


The Thing With Feathers

by ArchangelUnmei, Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anxiety, Casual Sex, Coming of Age, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Magic School, Teacher-Student Relationship, Violent Thoughts, but there are tons of casual hookups happening too, but they're learning to overcome them, most of the girls have issues, tagged relationships are the main romantic ones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madeline Williams never expected to be attending a boarding school on a whole different continent just because her magic is a little more… difficult than the norm. She never expected to make friends that would last a lifetime. She never expected to find someone to <i>love</i>. And she never, ever expected to be caught up in events that would reach far beyond the walls of the school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry about the massive block of tags. More will be added once they show up.
> 
> This is something Shacha and I have been working on for... literally years now. It started out as a fun setting we could write slice-of-life in, but this is us, so... plot happened. A lot of plot happened. Buckle your seatbelts, kids.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our cast of characters.

**The Teachers**

**~*~**

_Yi Wang_ \- (f!China) The headmistress, regarded with wary superstition by one and all

 _Elaine Kirkland_ \- (f!England) The school nurse, probably not as prickly as she seems on first meeting

 _Marianne Bonnefoy_ \- (f!France) The most dramtic of the dramatis personae

 _Hotaru Honda_ \- (f!Japan) Keeps her quarters in the same building as the library, unofficial technical support for the rest of the school

 _Gloria Fernandez Carriedo_ \- (f!Portugal) The older Fernandez sister, somewhat more steady unless you ask her for directions

 _Isabela Fernandez Carriedo_ \- (f!Spain) The younger Fernandez sister, cares for most of the gardens and helps out those who want to learn to grow things

 _Sonja Eiriksen_ \- (f!Norway) Karla's romantic partner. Generally keeps to herself, despite Karla's best efforts

 _Karla Sørensen_ \- (f!Denmark) Sonja's romantic partner. Loves being outdoors and handles physical fitness for the students (and teachers)

 _Yekaterina "Katya"  Aleksandrivna Braginskaya_ \- (Ukraine) Youngest of the teachers. Older sister of Anya and older half-sister to Natalya

 

**The Students**

**~*~**

_Wilhemina "Wil" de Vries_ \- (f!Netherlands) Older sister of Emma. Prefers the company of plants over people, even if it does mean putting up with Isabela

 _Emma de Vries_ \- (Belgium) Younger sister of Wil. Definitely the person everyone wants on kitchen duty

 _Anna "Anya" Aleksandrovna Braginskaya_ \- (f!Russia) Younger sister of Katya, older half-sister of Natalya. Not as impressed with her younger sister's regard as Natalya probably wishes

 _Natalya Aleksandrovna Arlovskaya_ \- (Belarus) Younger half-sister of Katya and Anya. Most of the other students find her intensity intimidating

 _Luise Beilschmidt_ \- (f!Germany) Younger sister of Avis. Ends up feeling like a baby-sitter a lot of the time, between the Vargas sisters and Avis

 _Avis Beilschmidt_ \- (f!Prussia) Older sister of Luise. Her white hair marks her as something strikingly different, even in a world with magic, and her erratic personality matches

 _Chiara Vargas_ \- (f!South Italy) The older Vargas twin. 'Unimpressed and grumpy' seem to be her default settings

 _Feliciana Vargas_ \- (f!North Italy) The younger Vargas twin. Their grandfather helped found the school, but she's probably the only one excited when he comes to visit

 _Abigail "Abby" Francine Jones_ \- (f!America) Always enthusiastic and happy to help, unless it comes to actual lessons. Often Kelsey's partner in crime

 _Madeline Williams_ \- (f!Canada) Shy but practical, prone to getting dragged along with whatever the others are doing (but God help you if you actually make her mad)

 _Kelsey Kirkland_ \- (f!Australia) Distant cousin of Elaine's. Loves being outside, and prone to spectacular tumbles off of things. Often Abby's partner in crime

 _Erzsébet "Erzsi, Eliza"_ _Héderváry_ \- (Hungary) One of the younger students, but never lets that stop her from jumping into things with the older girls

 _Lilja Ingólfsdóttir_  - (f!Iceland) Shares a separate apartment with Sonja and Karla, who are her legal guardians. Has a Puffin Familiar that's been with her as long as she can remember

 _Elrica_ _Edelstein_ \- (f!Austria) The youngest student currently at the school. Usually keeps to herself, since her powers are prone to accidental property damage when she's upset


	2. How Do You Learn to Spell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madeline Williams arrives at her new school and manages to make it through her first (very long, _very_ tiring) day.

 

_ Ancestress: the burning witch, _ __  
_ her mouth covered by leather _ _  
_ _ to strangle words. _

_ A word after a word _ _  
_ _ after a word is power. _

~ Margaret Atwood,  _ Spelling _

  
  


I refuse to begin any story, especially a faerie story, with the words ‘once upon a time’. It wasn’t that long ago, and that beginning never bodes well. And word choice, as always, is  _ important _ . So instead -

Our story is set on a wide swathe of land, nestled between the Alps in the distance and a lake to one side. It’s an area that technically, legally belongs to France, but it’s close enough to the Swiss border and far enough from anything else that for the most part people just refer to it as  _ rural _ . A large parcel of land, lakefront and field and forest, was bought up several decades ago by a wealthy foreign benefactor and earmarked to be developed into a school.

But not just any school. A school for those with gifts, particularly young girls, because our wealthy benefactor and some of his near friends and associates (all of whom had a certain amount of power themselves) believed it would be better, easier, healthier for young women to develop their gifts among their peers. (And powers of any sort, especially the powerful sorts, run far less strongly in men. The reason differs depending on who you ask, ranging from women having a closer connection to spiritual forces to men being too stupid to see or use what’s right in front of their noses. But whatever the reason - mysticism or science - there are far fewer male witches in the world than female.)

Our story (or the part of it I’m setting out to tell, at least) is set there, but I suppose it  _ begins  _ much farther away, across an ocean with one girl who will shortly find her life becoming much different.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Transferring schools in the middle of the year was never anything someone looked forward to. Least of all a shy teenager still trying to get a firm hand on the dauntingly ever-widening scope of power that she had been born with, power that was racing away from her more and more each year. (Month.  _ Day _ ?)

Even  _ worse _ than transferring schools for one Madeline Williams was having to move  _ continents  _ to transfer schools - in the middle of the teaching year! She had to leave behind her home and her family and everyone she knew, boarding a whole (big! Very big!) ocean and a couple of knobbly islands away from her much-loved home in Kingston, Ontario.

Her  _ parents _ hadn’t seemed very pleased with the idea either, but Madeline would never forget the looks on their faces when they sat her down to tell her about the offer. How serious her papa looked, as he took hold of her hand and told her this might be her best opportunity to learn from witches who had powers just as…  _ difficult _ as hers. (“Quirky,” her maman had muttered. “Unique,” her papa had corrected.) And her maman had looked so sad and worried, though she tried to hide it behind a hopeful smile and plenty of words about how the Vargas school didn’t offer invitations so often, especially not to girls outside of Europe, and this would be a wonderful chance for Madeline to see the world.

And Madeline, sitting listening to the couch humming about how itchy cat hair was and the carpet complaining about static, didn’t really have any choice but to say yes.

With most of her things sent to the school ahead of her, they’d stopped over in Paris for a few days before flying on to Geneva - at the insistence of Madeline’s maman, because if they were going to be in  _ that  _ corner of the world anyway, they  _ might as well, and, Maddie, darling, surely there must be some gardens or art galleries or museums you want to see?  _ Everyone  _ does Paris at some point, and this might as well be your turn. _

So they’d done the tourist thing, seen the sights, ate the food - ate quite a  _ bit  _ of the food, because if there was one thing Madeline and her papa could agree on, it was appreciating food - and somehow or other they’d ended up going  _ shopping,  _ and Madeline had ended up with some new clothes for her school trunk.  _ Expensive  _ clothes, business-uniform and casual clothes alike, whose price tags had made Madeline wince. She’d never been fond of throwing money away, not on things that could so easily be counted as fripperies _ , _ but, when she’d pushed aside the murmurs her magic had heard in the history of the dressing-room curtains and stepped out in front of the gleaming shop mirrors in the new clothes, something in her heart had went all gold-bubbly and champagne-soft, delighted at how, when she twirled, the buttons on her blouse all glimmered, and her gauzy skirt billowed out with a  _ sigh. _

_ A little luxury never hurt anyone,  _ her papa had said, when Madeline had whittled down the pile of beautiful clothes that she liked out of the ones the shop assistants had brought her to as large as her conscience would allow,  _ and you look lovely, petite. _

He’d bought her a four-euro beret from a souvenir store just to spite her when she’d protested how much he’d spent on her clothes - red, red as the maple leaf of their flag -, and plonked it unceremoniously on her head before taking her out for ice-cream. Their last night in Paris.

It had been nice to be spoilt.

With the dawning of a new day it had been breakfast (some of the most delicious pastries that Madeline had ever had, although the dark chocolate she ordered with them was incredibly bitter) and onwards to the  _ Gare de Lyon,  _ Madeline and her family pushing their way through the crowds at the pretty train station (apologising all the way) with the last of her belongings to catch the high-speed TGV  _ Lyria  _ train to Geneva, Switzerland.

Leaving from Paris, the line passed through Lyon to get to Geneva ( _Paris, Lyons, Genéve_ announced one of the train managers over the intercom), with an estimated journey time of three hours and five minutes. Just over three hours seemed like an absurdly short time to get from one country to another. At least coming to France from Canada, there had been many hours on the plane, giving Madeline enough time to panic, calm down, and then panic again, but still be thoroughly convinced that, when she set foot on solid ground again, she would _really be in another country_. 

Three hours, on the other hand, just wasn’t enough time to adjust to such a change. And there didn’t seem to be  _ that  _ much difference in the weather between Paris and Geneva. Or scenery. Or language (ignoring the two gentlemen a few seats back very briskly discussing their finances in clipped German). After they left Lyon, Madeline couldn’t tell when it was they crossed the Swiss border - but then suddenly they were whizzing into a sleek urban sprawl, the intercom announcing that the train would shortly be coming in to Geneva station,  _ Genève-Cornavin _ .

Because of the size of Madeline’s bags, they were checked at the Swiss customs coming off the platform, and their Canadian passports and provincial ID cards got Madeline’s parents the standard lecture about how long they could be in Switzerland and the Schengen area without a visa. Madeline, of course, had her passport and French visa rigorously checked - and somewhat gingerly handed back to her when the customs officials recognised the name of the school written on it. (It  _ was  _ less than an hour’s drive away.)

Waiting for them all on the other side of customs had been Marianne, the teacher who had come to collect Madeline from Geneva and take her on to the school. More formally, it was _Madame Bonnefoy,_ or Ms. Bonnefoy - once Madeline quietly confessed that, although she spoke French fluently, English would put her more at ease -, but the woman herself asked them, if it would please them, for just _Marianne._

Smartly-dressed, with her dark honey hair swept up into the sort of elegant chignon girls at Madeline’s old ‘ _ normal’  _ school would have paid dearly to have done for them when prom had rolled around, and with her bright, quick eyes, Ms. Marianne looked very much like the French capital Madeline and parents had so recently vacated. Paris and Ms. Marianne were gorgeous, glossy and thriving and full of piles of secrets - all things that made Madeline, despite her cute beret, despite all her beautiful new clothes, feel remarkably young and small.

Were all the witches at this school so- so  _ daunting?  _ So perfect and poised? Madeline wasn’t - Madeline had never been that sort of person, as calm and collected as Ms. Marianne seemed to be. Madeline didn’t  _ do _ that sort of graceful being; she  _ couldn’t  _ do it - if all the witches were like this she was going to stick out like a sore thumb. People would laugh. People would think she was some graceless uneducated American - people  _ always  _ called her American - idiot with no taste or talents or charm or magical skill or- or  _ anything - _

This had been a mistake; Madeline wanted to go home. In fact, she’d been quite ready to turn and tell her papa that, that this whole school idea for people like her was a terrible idea and that they were all going back to Paris, and then back home to Canada,  _ together - _

And then Ms. Ma-

And then Marianne had taken her hand to shake, and smiled, their eyes meeting properly for the first time.

“Don’t worry Madeline, alright? Everything will be fine.”

And Madeline’s fears had just slowly dripped away.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The first thing Madeline saw of her new home was the lake. Lake Geneva glittered with vast promise in the springtime sunlight, all kinds of wondering blue that had Madeline craning her neck to see the amazing scenery behind Marianne’s silhouette in the driving seat of the teacher’s car.

“We call it  _ lac Léman  _ in the local tongue _ , _ ” Marianne explained, when she saw how Madeline was contorting in the passenger seat beside her to try and see the water beyond. Embarrassed at being caught being so rude, Madeline stilled. “Although if you wish to be a brute about it, some on the north shore call it  _ Genfersee. _ ”

Whatever anyone called it, Marianne and Madeline kept the lake to their left as they crossed the Swiss border back into France again, following the wobbling arc of the main lakeside road. The land around them was dotted with tiny hamlets, picturesque medieval villages and expensive private estates, the fields metaphorically rolling, and the plentiful woodland a rich green density set against the crisp blueness of the lake and sky.

Madeline looked out rather dubiously at the woods. “...There aren’t bears, are there?” Europe had bears still, didn’t it? Parts of Europe?

Marianne laughed, a thrill of sound that made Madeline want to smile along with her. “No, we have no bears around here. Which is very good! The region is famous for its cheeses - and that means lots of fat vulnerable dairy cows. Bears would be drawn in if we had them, since there are two witches with beastspeech in the area, and that would put the cows at risk.”

Good for the cows. And the bears. And all the trash bins Madeline won’t have to rescue after bears and raccoons have run off with them.

Marianne took them around another curve in the road, apparently perfectly comfortable behind the wheel of her car (despite the fact Madeline could  _ hear  _ the horn attached to that wheel grumbling away a litany of rude things that had been said when an angry hand had been slammed down upon it). “Instead, we have ibex, chamois -”

“Chamois?”

“It’s something like a goat. There are also beavers, golden eagles, peregrine falcons, lots of other rare birds, and the very occasional wolf.”

_ Wolves?! _

“You needn’t be alarmed, ma chère.” Marianne had never stated  _ what  _ her powers were as a witch, but Madeline was getting increasingly suspicious that they might be telepathic in nature. “The area is very safe, and, regardless, the school grounds are powerfully warded to prevent dangerous creatures and people with ill-intent from entering. Also to keep any problems  _ we  _ create better contained. Even on trips outside of the wards, you will always have a member of staff nearby.”

There had been witches nearby back home as well, but very few of them had been very practiced in shooing away  _ chipmunks _ , never mind tackling problems like moose or bears or wolves. But witches that could do that, that could do  _ more,  _ would be more dangerous than all the wild animals, especially if they were all yet to take the exam signifying mastery over their gifts.

More of the French countryside whizzed past the window, now all a blur at the corner of Madeline’s eye. Her hands tightened in her lap, the seatbelt pressing hard into her chest. “Don’t the people who live around here mind having so many young witches with difficult magic disturbing them?”

Still seemingly concentrating on the road, Marianne lifted and dropped her shoulders in one perfect, elegant shrug. “There are little spats every so often, but we take care to smooth over any incidents with the locals. What manners won’t fix, money and magic often do.”

They drove the rest of the way to the school in silence.

There was no gate at the entrance to the school. There _was_ a long wall that ran along the grounds closest to the road ( _to stop people walking into the wards by accident,_ said Marianne), and signs both at the wooded turn-off and gateway announcing the name of the school in French and English, _Lake Leman School for the Health and Development of Young Witches_ , its speciality, and politely informing all guests that it was mandatory to call in at the reception building before attempting to proceed anywhere else on school grounds, disclaimer, disclaimer.

The world  _ shivered  _ as they passed through the gate, a sudden wave of goosebumps rising up all over Madeline’s skin as something  _ popped  _ soundlessly inside her head. Madeline had to raise one hand to check it wasn’t her ears, rubbing at one lobe with a confused fist, but her hearing seemed to be fine. 

Marianne kept the car going smoothly down an avenue of tall, straight trees, apparently unbothered by whatever had just hit(?) Madeline. That meant it was normal, right? “You felt that, yes?”

“That was… the wards?” Madeline tentatively guessed, and Marianne nodded. “The… the  _ feeling _ in the air completely changed, and the voices are -” She frowned, dropping her fist to try and focus on the avenue they were driving through, feeling for the voices in the trees. “It feels like a church.”

“You might not be saying that once you’ve met some of the demons who live here.” Marianne was smiling as she spoke, so Madeline  _ assumed  _ the teacher was joking, but some of her earlier nervousness recommenced its queasy flutterings in her stomach all the same.

The first building that came into sight was a tall, sprawling chalet, all dark wood and perfectly painted accents.

“The reception building and the headmistress’ residence,” Marianne said, gesturing to it as they passed (though Madeline would’ve preferred for her to keep  _ both  _ hands on the wheel), “although some of the girls call it the  _ vampire’s lair _ .” She paused a moment, considering, before amending: “Not just the girls.”

The road through the grounds eventually curved left, taking them towards a scattering of other buildings. Those, at least, looked friendlier than the reception building, and the glimpses of desks, chairs and whiteboards Madeline caught sight of through the windows definitely signified  _ school. _

Marianne drew the car up beside the building closest to the road. It was the most immediately school-ish looking of all them, nearly all the windows closest to the road all showing classrooms, one or two occupied with a handful of girls, the occasional adult, teacher. Madeline didn’t know how many of the people were doing the time-honoured tradition of staring out the window instead of paying attention to class, but she felt self-conscious regardless as she undid her belt, sliding out of the car’s protection and into a new school and home - life - and all its scrutiny.

Madeline went to go around to the trunk to start taking out her luggage, but Marianne cut her off. “No, no, leave that. I’ll see that your things get to your room.  _ Allons, _ ” a hand found Madeline’s shoulder, gently but firmly steering her away from the car and over to one of the entrances on the furthest edge of the building, past the beginnings of a pretty garden full of rosebushes.

In through the polished doors and immediately right: Madeline almost went straight into a large whiteboard on the wall, going cross-eyed at the neat, sharp-smelling schedule written out on it whilst Marianne knocked on the door beside her, three swift raps with her knuckles.

Not that Marianne even waited for an answer from within, releasing Madeline and opening the door immediately (with a flourish that Madeline privately thought was somewhat unnecessary). “Elaine! Je suis  _ là _ , ma belle bête, avec la nou _ velle _ -” a brief pause for Marianne to smoothly duck as something round and pastel green flew out of the space in the open doorway that had just been occupied by her head, Marianne’s mouth twisting up in pretty remonstration - “now  _ what  _ would you have done had that been our new student?”

“As if  _ you’d _ let a student steal your opportunity for a dramatic entrance.”

‘Elaine’ had a crisp, somewhat sardonic voice, and the sort of obvious, stereotypical British accent that made Madeline think of Hollywood villains - albeit one who would be more  _ smoke  _ than  _ silk. _

“You are quite cruel to me -” Again, Marianne was interrupted, Elaine saying something inside the room too low for Madeline to catch, and the little green… ball/thing that had been lying sadly in the corridor after being tossed away promptly  _ lifted itself up into the air and shot back inside the room. _

Marianne ducked to avoid it again. Without even looking behind her. Clearly this was a familiar routine?

Rather weakly, Madeline began contemplating whether it would have been better to knock herself out on the whiteboard.

Perhaps her desire to flee consciousness and Europe was too evident, for Madeline found herself snared again right as her thoughts flip-flopped the same way her nerves were doing in her stomach, Marianne taking her hand and pulling Madeline along and into the mysterious Elaine’s room.

Office-room.

Office.

It was a very nice office, from quick first impressions. It said  _ welcome  _ in the way that only Madeline’s magic could hear, all white walls and gauzy yellow curtains bathed in spring sunshine, not too large to feel cold and empty, nor too small so that it felt cramped. It  _ was  _ rather full though: the space beneath the window was taken up by a long blue sofa, and the windowsill covered in books and files and too many little things to identify. One whole wall was given over entirely to shelves and dark wooden filing cabinets that had had spells so powerful laid over them that even the merest  _ echo  _ of what they had to say made Madeline’s teeth hurt, soundless words chiming deep and loud inside her head like standing inside a large and slowly ringing sonorous bell. Two thriving pretty potted plants spilling their flowers and happy memories everywhere atop the cabinets did something to relieve the ache, a matching, mirrored set - something warm about the pink hyacinths in their blue pot, something sweet about the blue forget-me-nots in the pink pot beside them.  

There was a sink, counter and cupboards squeezed up in one corner near the sofa, and the rest of the room was  _ desk,  _ desk and chair, stacked books and stationery, files, ornaments, a green stress ball painted with a rabbit’s face, strange… accoutrements, and. Woman. Witch. Witch sitting in the middle of it all, at her desk, with tailored trousers and a very crisp white blouse buttoned all the way down to her wrist, all fair hair and eyes sharp in a way that reminded Madeline of every single disapproving schoolteacher or fierce librarian that had ever said  _ shush, young lady  _ to her with nothing but an arched eyebrow in her entire life all in one.

And Marianne pushed Madeline  _ towards  _ this woman, elegant hand quite firm going from wrist to the middle of Madeline’s back.

“Madeline, ma chère, this is Miss Elaine Kirkland, a fellow teacher and our school nurse. I know she looks terribly grumpy, but she is very good at answering questions and will make sure that you have everything you need.  _ Elaine, _ ” Marianne pouted very dramatically at the woman she’d pointed out as nurse (and Madeline  _ very dearly _ hoped the two women in the office with her were friends and this was just how they expressed their familiar bond, because otherwise the slow narrowing of Elaine’s eyes at Marianne’s gesture suggested that the next thing being thrown through the air would not be a little green stress ball), “notre nouvelle fille. Her name is Madeline, she is a  _ darling _ , and you must be kind to her and not do the scowling thing that makes it seem like you shall never have any friends.”

Elaine frowned, and looked five times as forbidding when she did so. “I know her name! Unlike  _ certain _ others, I actually read her file when I was supposed to -” Marianne shrugged a very eloquent shrug - that moved through Madeline’s chest with her other hand still on Madeline’s back, suggested  _ eh, files,  _ and had a dismissive flap of the one free hand to go with it - and Elaine’s breath hissed out between her teeth like a teapot filled too full, the ceramic head rattling ominously with an intent to scatter and scald. “Just  _ go  _ already, would you? You have a class with Luise later, and no doubt a great deal of your daily scheduled  _ nonsense  _ to get through before you can bring yourself to attend it.”

“How dare you,” said Marianne, and actually looked wounded. “I will have you  _ know,  _ lapine, that I do not  _ schedule  _ nonsense.”

“A thousand apologies; how could I forget that the ridiculous happens organically with you -”

“I cannot help that I was born naturally charismatic.”

“Perhaps - if ‘charismatic’ is now French for ‘ _ pain in the arse’. _ ”

Madeline half-expected Marianne to take offence at that, Elaine’s sharp-toned dig loaded with unfathomable layers - but Marianne just laughed, loud and merry, the comment rolling off of her as easily as water off of a duck’s back. “Oh, ma ravissante  _ boule  _ d’amour, I will be the French pain in  _ your  _ arse any time that you like.”

Elaine seemed neither wooed nor impressed, but she sat still long enough to have two overly dramatic kisses deposited on her cheeks, Marianne leaving an alarming space at Madeline’s back when she went to harass the school nurse in the name of  _ goodbye  _ instead. 

_ “Go, _ ” Elaine said again, more gently than before but no less firmly, when it looked as though Marianne was going to settle herself on the arm of the nurse’s chair and no doubt hang around for a while.

Her fingers tucked beneath Elaine’s chin, Marianne smiled at her, murmuring something too quiet and too quick for Madeline to catch. Elaine just sighed, but she accepted the soft, brief kiss at the corner of her mouth that punctuated Marianne’s words - though its intimacy had Madeline, still over by the door, blushing pink.

Marianne sashayed off and out of the office with that and a bright  _ à bientôt, Madeline,  _ and (despite her recently-displayed eccentricities) with her floated the last little bastion of Madeline’s reassurance, wonder, and sparkling hopeful bubbles.

Leaving Madeline with Elaine.

And Elaine’s eyes narrowed at her.

Madeline squeaked. That was the only word that could be properly used; the sound was somewhere between a small, fluffy kitten being startled and the hinge on an antique jewelry box.

She caught herself immediately, her hands flying to cover up her mouth. “Sorry! I -” That was just making her words come out muffled, so, embarrassed, she dragged her fingers down her chin. “ _ Sorry. _ ”

“Would you like to sit down?” Elaine gestured to the sofa, and Madeline almost tripped over her own feet in her hurry to get to the seat. She could still feel  _ eyes  _ on her back, and didn’t want to do something stupid and burst into apologies all over again. “...Perhaps I should apologise to  _ you  _ for inflicting Marianne on you as your welcome party.”

“Oh,” Madeline sat, already worried that she’d given the impression that she didn’t like the woman that her new nurse was… um. Antagonistically dating? On kissing acquaintanceship with? “Oh no! Ms. Marianne was very… informative!” ...And that was probably underselling her, but just under two hours with Marianne had not equipped Madeline with the correct vocabulary to try and sum up the special type of overwhelming  _ everything  _ that Marianne had struck her as. So Madeline just added a sincere, but lame: “And kind!”

“...She has something of a steamroller personality, doesn’t she?”

“...Um.”

“It’s fine.” Elaine’s smile was an amused but not terribly reassuring thing, and Madeline’s shoulders dropped with some relief when the nurse looked away from her, busy opening one of the paper files on her desk. “You get used to her after a while - unfortunately. Especially so since you have been assigned a bedroom in the main dorms, where Ms. Bonnefoy, Miss Braginskaya and myself are the supervising staff. We’re downstairs, just off the crash area, so if you have any problems you can find us there. We all have our names on our doors, and my schedule is on the whiteboard outside my rooms. It matches the one outside this office at all times - they magically update each other -, so if you have a medical problem, you can find me wherever I am. As for finding  _ yourself... _ ” Madeline got a paper held out in her direction, plucked up from Elaine’s file. “A map.”

The map was a plain black and white affair of the whole school grounds, marked with three small red stickers - which apparently pointed, when Madeline took a hasty glance at them, to the main dorms (her room), the nurse’s office/ward, and dining room (on either end of the labelled ‘main building’, according to the map).

“And your room key.” A light chime of metal on wood, and then Elaine was offering Madeline her uplifted hand, a small silver key shining on her palm. It hung off of a ring with a white snowflake charm, the charm itself emblazoned with a single _3._ When Madeline took it, Elaine’s skin seemed as cool to touch as both the key’s metal and its charm. “We placed you in the Winter group; most of the girls there prefer quiet for one reason or another.”

Along with map and key came a two-week schedule for Madeline’s classes, all her lessons that weren’t practical magic marked out in clear boxes in two tables (one per week). Some of the boxes were starred - showing those lessons taught by non-witch teachers, Elaine said at Madeline’s inquiring look, who were not part of the school’s main staff and so were only available for help with their subjects on certain days of the week.

Madeline did her best not to look worried or grimace at her list of subjects, even as Elaine gave her a gift by telling Madeline that she would not have to start any of those subjects, or their work, until the following week, to give her time to acclimatise to her new surroundings, timezone, and company. Madeline’s subjects (and their levels of difficulty) had been chosen for her based upon her own submitted preferences and the exam results from her school in Canada - but even with  _ that _ in mind, there was no wiggling out of the extra language classes she was now required to take to study and live in an international boarding school. English and French, which she already had but needed to improve (especially her French), and then German ( _ why  _ had she and her parents thought it a good idea for her to start learning German again?), with some occasional Spanish lessons for  _ ‘fun.’ _

“As for your magical lessons…”

Madeline lifted her eyes from her schedule when Elaine spoke about what concerned her the most about this new school, trying not to worry at her lower lip with her teeth. The nurse seemed relaxed about the topic, propping one elbow on the desk beside her and resting her cheek upon her hand, so that meant Madeline had nothing to be overly concerned about either. (Right?)

There was no wiggle room under Elaine’s gaze. “I’m sure you will have heard this before, but all students are assigned a witch on staff as their personal magical tutor. Usually there’s about two students per tutor, although all classes are usually one-on-one unless the witch overseeing is doing a special exercise or the like.”

That meant privacy for Madeline to stutter in, trying to explain the inexplicable parts of her magic to an ear that, at home in Canada, had always been sympathetic, but had just  _ not _ gotten what Madeline had been trying to say, frustrating everyone stuck in a class with her. One-on-one would be embarrassing, but still better than a class-full of impatient student witches watching her.

( _ ‘She hears so many voices, and she  _ still _ can’t find one to talk about her gift?!’ _ )

“You are to refer to this tutor first and foremost with any concerns about your magical growth and development, although I am also here for assistance, especially if you feel your questions relate to your physical, mental, magical and emotional health. Spiritual…” Elaine hesitated, and then dismissed the idea with a brusque wave of her free hand. “Spiritual, I’m not so good at. All the other teachers can assist you with general enquiries and aid, and no-one will reprimand you for asking someone who would be the  _ best  _ person to ask for help with a particular issue.

Currently,  _ I  _ am your personal tutor. Most new girls are. We’ll have a class the day after tomorrow, before your other lessons begin - I’ll let you know the exact time at breakfast that day -, although I expect we’ll be able to assign you to another tutor who better suits your needs after our first session.”

“Is it a bad thing if you don’t?”

“I tutor one particular girl who might say that you’re  _ doomed  _ if you stay as my student, but she’s still in one piece, and is coming along nicely with her lessons all the same. I bribe her with chocolate.”

“I prefer maple candies,” said Madeline without thinking about it, and then blushed under the appearing ghost of Elaine’s smile.

“Then I shall have to procure some.” The nurse straightened again in her seat, tucking back some loose strands of her hair behind one ear. (It was the most disorderly part of Elaine that Madeline could see, excepting the careful chaos of the office around them. The hair.) “...It doesn’t mean anything  _ bad _ if you stay as my student, Madeline, only that we think that I’ll be the best witch we have to help you handle your gifts. Quite a few students move between tutors as their powers and skills grow and develop.”

Madeline lowered her head, accepting and taking in the information for later, and Elaine went back to sifting through her file and other paperwork on her desk.

“I don’t think there’s much else you need informing of right now… We have a rota for chores in the main dorm - collecting and returning laundry, mostly, and whose turn it is to vacuum the crash area -, but I expect one of the girls will gladly tell you about that as they pencil you in, and add you to the schedule for kitchen duties too. Unless you consider your cooking skills a serious fire hazard?” Elaine asked, peering at her suddenly.

“...No?” said Madeline, bewildered again.

“All our fire extinguishers are kept in working order anyway.” Madeline wasn’t sure if she was being insulted or not. “Your formal greeting with the headmistress, Ms. Wang, will be sometime tomorrow, after lunch. She hasn’t sent me her itinerary yet, so I can’t tell you exactly  _ when  _ she’ll be free to see you - just be sure to keep your afternoon free, alright?” (What else _ ,  _ exactly, did Elaine think Madeline was going to book into her planner on the first full day in a new boarding school?) “I’ll give you the exact time at lunch tomorrow; make sure you’re prompt in the dining room.”

Elaine set her papers down and Madeline hoped that might finally -  _ finally -  _ be it, but -

No luck.

“As your nurse,” said Elaine (oh no), “I need to give you a quick medical,” (oh  _ no;  _ this was far too much for one day), “and, as you’re only a few months shy of your sixteenth birthday, I’d really prefer to give you  _ another  _ talk right now too,” (Madeline could feel herself flushing already, sensing where the conversation was going and already hoping for a chasm to open up beneath the couch she was sitting on and swallow her whole), but,” and there Elaine’s gaze softened slightly, her whole countenance shifting into something that made Madeline,  _ at last,  _ feel like she could relax in her seat, “you can only remember  _ so  _ much at once, and you’ve probably had a very long, very tiring day already.”

_ (...Angels were singing  _ Hallelujah.)

Madeline nodded. Emphatically.

“It’s not over yet, of course.” Elaine checked the pages in front of her, one finger tapping absently against a notation. “Miss Braginskaya should be outside to show you around, but I think we can save the rest of our conversation for another time. Unless you have any immediate questions?” 

Madeline shook her head this time and stood when Elaine did, smoothing a hand down her skirt to settle it and taking unconscious reassurance from the familiar texture of the fabric. A pointed look from the nurse reminded her to snatch the schedule and map up from the sofa before she forgot them completely. She had to fight to swallow back another squeak, and again Elaine’s expression softened. She stepped around her desk, reaching out to put a reassuring, only slightly awkward hand on Madeline’s shoulder to steer her around toward the door. “I asked her to come right at two, and she’s usually perfectly punctual, but if something’s delayed her, don’t wander off on your own.”

“I won’t.” Madeline nibbled at her lower lip, wondering at the implications of that last comment, and finally just asked, “But would it matter? Miss Bonnefoy told me the grounds are warded to be safe.”

“Yes, of course they are.” Madeline noticed the slight twitch in Elaine’s cheek at the mention of Marianne’s name, but already she’d gathered enough to know not to point it out. “And it’s not that I doubt your intelligence, Madeline. Some of the other students can be a bit…” she failed at finding the word she wanted, and shrugged. “Especially when startled. Lord knows you don’t need to encounter Natalya or Avis alone in a dark hallway, not on your first day.”

Madeline swallowed, sorry she’d asked. “Oh.”

Miss Braginskaya turned out to be a moderately tall young woman with a gentle blond bob and even gentler eyes, her smile kind as Madeline, slightly dazed and clutching the sheaf of papers she’d been handed, stepped out of Elaine’s office. She must be older than she looked, Madeline thought, because Miss Braginskaya  _ looked _ no older than eighteen, her face soft and unlined. She was dressed every inch the teacher, though, in a smart tweed pencil skirt and ruffled blouse buttoned over a chest generous enough to make Madeline blush. Her heels clicked on the floor as she stepped over to Madeline, and she  _ must _ have noticed the blush but all she did was laugh softly, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on Madeline’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” her voice was just as soft and warm as the rest of her, the accent full and round and seeming to stroke down Madeline’s skin, an entirely different sound than Marianne’s familiar-different non-Quebecois French and Elaine’s sharp crisp British. Madeline breathed in, and without meaning to she heard the way Miss Braginskaya’s clothes shifted and rustled, whispering about how dusty they were and how long they’d hung in the closet, how all the soft sweaters got worn so much more. And somehow, that was more reassuring than anything else, that maybe Miss Braginskaya was just as uncomfortable doing this sort of thing, even if she didn’t show it. “You’re Madeline?”

Madeline nodded, not  _ quite _ trusting herself to say anything, but Miss Braginskaya just smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m Katya. Would you like the tour now, or a chance to rest first…?”

Madeline blushed furiously and shook her head, wondering why she was so tongue-tied and feeling like a child again. “I’m fine,” she managed to unknot her tongue enough to say. “A tour’s fine.”

“Great,” Miss Braginskaya - Katya - smiled again, stepping back and only wobbling on her heels a very little. (Madeline felt better again, seeing that.) “Then let’s start here.”

Elaine’s office and the nurse’s ward took up a one-story extension that jutted out from the main building. Katya took her through the doorway that connected them, emerging into the high-ceilinged, tiled hallway that ran the width of the building, all the way to the other extension at the other end, which held the dining hall and kitchens.

“Wow…” Madeline tilted her head back to look up, all the wood paneling and plaster moulding reminding her of museums and castles, though the antique light sconces had high-efficiency bulbs in them. But there were little things, scratches and dents, a skateboard with a rainbow sticker on it half under a table, that made it clear people lived here, worked here, used this space. It made her feel a little better, once again.

“This hall is mostly classrooms,” Katya said, leading the way down it. Several of the doors were closed, but some were standing open, letting Madeline see into classrooms that could have been transplanted directly from her old high school, save a better quality of desk and less of an overall battered appearance. (She couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not.) “Down at the end nearest the kitchens is the staff room, and my office is the one directly opposite. Miss Bonnefoy was the one who brought you from the station, wasn’t she? Her office is directly beside mine, please come see either of us if you ever need anything. There are two other offices beside the staff room; one is Miss Eiriksen’s and the other belongs to the younger Miss Fernandez, I’m sure you’ll meet both of them soon enough. Miss Fernandez is very friendly, but Miss Eiriksen dislikes being bothered when she’s working, so if her door is closed you might not want to…”

Katya trailed off, seeing the look on Madeline’s face, and coloured slightly. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“No,” Madeline swallowed and tried to smile, making a firm mental note of which door to avoid. “I appreciate the warning. I’d hate to have anyone mad at me for bothering them.”

“Oh no, Miss Eiriksen is….” Katya hurried to clarify, smiling a little wryly herself and grasping to find a way to explain that was both accurate and polite. “Well, she’s very quiet. She dislikes needless noise and fuss, but she’s very kind, in her own way. She would never be  _ mad _ to be disturbed, perhaps just a bit… annoyed?”

Madeline frowned a little, thinking through that unique description before venturing. “...A bit like Miss Kirkland, then?”

Katya blinked, and then giggled softly, a little of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Yes. They’re stitched from similar cloth, those two. Now, each end of the hall has staircases up to the second floor, where there’s more classrooms and the magical practicum rooms.”

Madeline trotted along with her, relieved at the change of subject away from prickly teachers.

The second floor was much the same as the first, save a different pattern in the tiled floor, and whitewashed plaster walls instead of the fancier wood paneling. “It’s easier to paint over scorch marks than replace entire panels,” Katya told her, clearly embarrassed. “And easier to replaster over holes.” 

“...Scorch marks?” Madeline asked, though she was beginning to suspect that by now she shouldn’t be surprised. 

“There are three witches here who have powers that give them control over fire, to a greater or lesser extent. And two others that have greater-than-normal strength.”

“Oh,” Madeline swallowed, but there was also a stirring from the more curious, analytical part of her mind. She’d always been a little fascinated by the wide range of forms a witch’s powers could take. Most witches were like the traditional ones in tales; little spellworks learned from books, healing, more knowledge and little talents than real impressive  _ power _ . But all the witches here were here because they were extraordinary, and Madeline was beginning to see that she’d vastly underestimated that facet of the school. “Is it pretty evenly split between physical powers and, um, more magick-y ones?”

“Between physical and spiritual, you mean?” Katya clarified, then looked thoughtful when Madeline nodded, clearly running through a tally in her head. “If you count elemental manipulation in the ‘physical’ category, then yes. Normally, we tend to define our powers as being ‘outwards’ or ‘inwards’ facing; whether they affect only ourselves, like yours do, or if we can influence the world around us.”

“I see…” Madeline looked around again, at all the empty workrooms, and for the first time she smiled tentatively. If nothing else, being here would be interesting, and she’d learn a lot.

The tour led them back the length of the building and down another staircase, and then Katya opened a sturdy door that led outside. (It squeaked loudly, and Katya looked sheepish. The door, as Madeline passed through and brushed her hand against the weathered wood, was also sheepish.)

The door let out onto a sort of terrace patio, probably added to the building in later years. It ran down the back of the building for a little ways, and then butted up against the addition that held the kitchens and indoor dining hall. Because of its location, it was clear that the patio was a favored spot for eating in nicer weather, as evidenced by the lawn furniture littered around it.

( _ Most _ of it matched; elegant wrought iron with heavy frosted glass tops, but there was a sprinkling of wooden deck chairs, a couple plastic lawn chairs with cheaply woven seats that reminded Madeline strongly of barbeques back home, and one beautifully mosaiced end table. There was also a bright blue fairy globe on a stone pedestal and one terribly ugly lawn gnome.)

“That mosaic table was made by one of the other students,” Katya said, following Madeline’s curious gaze. “Well, Feliciana made the top, I think Berwald donated the base.” 

“Berwald?” Madeline blinked. This was a  _ girls’ _ school, but she was slightly embarrassed to realise she’d never thought about the fact there might be male  _ teachers _ .

“He’s a witch who lives in the nearby town,” Madeline breathed an unintentional sigh of relief at the answer. “He’s kin of Karla’s, and he helps us out around here when we need it. He can build enchantments into things he makes, so he makes his living as a carpenter and a bit of a smith, depending on what needs made.”

“I see…” As they walked along the patio, Madeline noticed that the wooden chairs all felt very sturdy, warm and solid like a living oak, and wondered if that was Berwald’s work on them she was feeling. “...And the gnome?”

“Oh,” Katya’s head whipped around to look at the gnome that was crouching back by the door, and Madeline was a little surprised to see her eyes narrow and her nose crinkle in a pretty little scowl. “That’s Miss Eiriksen’s. Don’t touch it, none of us can figure out if it’s alive or not, and she won’t tell us.” 

“... _ What?! _ ”

Katya huffed a little sigh, still watching the gnome like it was going to jump up and run away the moment she turned her back. (Maybe, Madeline realised uneasily, it  _ would _ . No wonder Katya was staring at it.) “The gnome is always the same, but it is almost never in the same  _ place _ . Sonja could be moving it, it would be like her sense of humor to play a trick like that. Or it could be moving itself, it would be like Sonja to have a little gnome friend, too. And she won’t answer questions about it, even when Karla’s the one who asks.”

“...She probably likes making you wonder?” Madeline squinted at the gnome. It didn’t  _ seem _ to be alive, but she didn’t really want to get close enough to find out for sure.

“Probably.” Katya huffed a little again, then put her arm around Madeline and deliberately turned her away so they could both step down off the patio. (Neither of them looked back to see if the gnome was still there, just in case it wasn’t.)

Smooth paved paths led away from the building, winding across the wide lawn and around the few trees that had been allowed to grow away from the forest. A gentle hill blocked the lakeside from immediate view, but Madeline could hear the quiet lapping of water as Katya led her down the path immediately in front of them.

“There are lots of gardens here.”

“Yes, aren’t they pretty?” Katya seemed pleased Madeline had pointed them out. “We have gardeners once a week come from town, but mostly they just keep the lawns neat for us. We have an earth witch and a water witch on staff, so they keep the flowers healthy and beautiful. A few of the girls also garden as part of their magical lessons - or simply because they like to garden. It is very therapeutic.” Her words halted unsurely for a few moments as she thought about what she’d said, and a slightly worried crease in her brow suggested that the therapy might be needed quite often. “...Oh! A lot of the staff and students have a little patch of their own to work on. Miss Kirkland keeps those fluffy roses by her ward, and Miss Honda has some very nice miniature plants next to the library. I had some sweet mixed flowers in my patch earlier in spring, but, ah, I think the weather was too cold for them.

If  _ you _ would like to grow something - flowers or fruits or vegetables - you can. But you must talk it out with Miss Fernandez, our earth and fire witch. She will find you the perfect spot for whatever it is you want to grow and help you get started out, if you would like. She’s very friendly, and knows lots about growing things even without using magic. The kitchens are -”

They were interrupted when footsteps sounded behind them, the  _ crunch  _ of gravel between the paving stones caught underfoot, not running but not exactly  _ sedate _ . Katya broke off from what she was saying, and both she and Madeline turned.

The woman striding down the path toward them was striking, in the same way Marianne was striking, all shining hair and long eyelashes and _very_ low-cut shirts, though in this woman’s case it was not exactly low cut and more half-unbuttoned. (As she got closer, Madeline noticed it was because it was _missing_ half its buttons.) Her dark hair was pulled back with a pearly jaw clasp, but quite a few strands were escaping to curl against dark cheeks. The overall messy effect was probably unintended rather than arranged, but looked quite lovely all the same. Her brows were drawn together a bit, but she didn’t seem particularly panicked, and smiled when she saw Madeline.

“Oh, I had forgotten you were coming today!” She stepped closer, offered her hand. (Manicured nails and a whiff of perfume - something light and airy, with a very faint whiff of smoke under  _ that _ , and her bracelet hummed about the lake and cigarettes and moonlight.) “I’m Gloria Fernandez. I help out with the Spanish language courses, and have an affinity for water.”

“I’m Madeline,” Madeline took her hand politely, but didn’t get a chance to ask exactly what an ‘affinity’ manifested as, or wonder if she was also the earth-and-fire-Fernandez that Katya had mentioned earlier, because Gloria was turning her attention back to Katya.

“Kat, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an incident with your sister….”

Madeline felt Katya shift a bit in her heeled shoes, and heard the resigned sigh. “Which one?”

“Natalya.” Madeline glanced up just in time to see Katya raise a surprised eyebrow, and Gloria gave a husky chuckle. “She’s somehow gotten herself tangled up in most of your office’s yarn. She says it was just a playful spirit, but Hotaru says she’ll probably need your help to get untangled.”

Katya groaned, putting a hand to her temple for a moment as though she had a headache. “ _ Most _ of my yarn, of course, just when I’ve got it all sorted…” Another sigh. “I’m so sorry, Madeline, I need to go take care of this.”

Madeline started a little at being addressed. “Oh- yes, of course-”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can-” Katya reassured at the same moment Gloria brightened a bit and said “I could call Isabela -”

Briefly, Madeline wondered if she was going to be required to meet  _ every single person _ at this school all on her first day, and fervently hoped that if that was the case that they at least wouldn’t expect her to remember all their names. “I’ll be okay, Miss Kirkland gave me a map.” She held up the sheaf of papers she was still clutching to demonstrate. “And my room assignment. I don’t mind looking around a little on my own.”

“Well…” Katya’s brow furrowed again, looking uncertain, but Gloria beamed and clapped a hand on Katya’s shoulder.

“Give her a little credit, Kat. Avis left on a run with Karla and Kelsey not long ago, and we have to go rescue Natalya from a yarn monster,” (Katya winced and muttered something that sounded distinctly like “I hope not,”) “so it’s not like she can get into much trouble. If we pass by anyone else we’ll point them back in Maddie’s direction.”

Madeline blushed a little at the instant nickname, combined with Gloria’s bright, dark-lipped smile. But then, there were those same names again, troublemaker enough that seemingly  _ every _ teacher instantly knew to keep an eye on them. It didn’t exactly bode well.

But still, she couldn’t cling to a teacher’s hand forever, especially when it looked like Katya was needed elsewhere with some urgency. “I’ll be okay, really.”

“Well… alright.” Katya let herself be pulled away, the two women disappearing back in the direction of the main building, and for the first time Madeline was left alone.

For a long moment she just savoured it, closing her eyes and letting the wood in the walls whisper to her about old, faded sunlight until she felt a little more like herself again. Then she looked down at the map Elaine had given her, and determinedly started trying to find her way to her new room. The dorm building itself was quite easy to find, but it seemed like whoever had designed the building itself had an affinity for little nooks and crannies and odd turns that made the layout confusing. Madeline was beginning to consider backtracking and asking Elaine for help when someone spoke up from behind her, making her jump.

“Ooh, I know  _ that  _ look.”

It was  _ weird _ , after spending time in Paris and then the afternoon with Elaine, to hear such a familiar voice. Well, not a familiar  _ voice _ , exactly, but a familiar  _ accent _ , all drawn-out vowels and slurred consonants and as she spun around a bit too fast Madeline felt the tug of the first bit of homesickness.

The girl behind her - the  _ American _ girl behind her - good grief she was even wearing a headband covered in  _ stars _ \- grinned and laughed when she saw the look on Madeline’s face, and she waved. She was perched on the sturdy steel railing that lined the staircase, butt on the middle bar and long arms folded around the top to hang on, pointed chin set on thin wrists. Her hair was gold, brighter and oranger than Madeline’s own, and her lightly tanned skin carried just a kiss of sunburn across her cheeks and nose, a generous sprinkling of freckles. She swung her legs, bright blue Converse knocking against the wall below her.

“That’s the ‘victim of Lainey in interrogation mode’ look. But,” and here the leggy girl untangled herself from the railings, swinging herself about so she could bound to her feet and down the few scant steps to where Madeline stood staring at her from the ground floor, unsure of what to make of such a casual greeting, “I don’t know your face, so you must be the new girl we were all told about. Hi!” Madeline only  _ just _ avoided getting poked in the eye when she had a - friendly? - hand abruptly shoved in her face, her head jerking back to avoid injury. Not that her greeter seemed to notice. “I’m Abigail F. Jones; it’s great to meet you!”

Startled, still trying to sort through Abigail’s enthusiasm and the strange dissonance of finding an American  _ here _ , Madeline just stared.

“...Do you not shake?” Abigail’s smile faded a little, fingers curling in toward her palm as she withdrew her hand. “I forgot some people don’t like to shake; we already have a few of those. Do you explode or something? I’m sorry!” The other girl coupled her words with action, clapping her hands together in a poor imitation of something Madeline thought she might have seen in a dubbed Japanese action movie once and bowing, her face still uplifted in an easy grin. “Hi!”

Madeline didn’t return the (twice-offered) greeting, her politeness forgotten in her surprise at… Abigail’s… implications. “...Girls here  _ explode? _ ”

Abigail didn’t seem at all bothered - or perhaps she was just easily distracted -, straightening up again to consider the question, her hands on her hips. “Well not a  _ lot,  _ but -” that was not terribly reassuring. “Hey, if Lainey just gave you the Spanish Inquisition and Health Sciences 101, shouldn’t someone be showing you around?”

“Ah,” Madeline faltered, gesturing vaguely behind her with her (now somewhat crumpled) handful of clasped paperwork in the direction of the dorm entrance and the main building where her guide had left her, “Miss Braginskaya was, but there was some sort of... _ thing  _ going on, and she ran off to deal with it -”

“Kat does that a lot.” Abigail sounded fond. “Total worrywart, but she’s one of the nicest teachers. She’ll let you get you away with most  _ anything  _ if you look sad enough. Her lil’ sisters though?” After not-so-discreetly checking over her shoulder for anybody listening on the stairs, Abigail leaned in conspiratorially. Madeline, bemused, obligingly leaned in as well. “Plain.  _ Weird.  _ Even for this place.”

“Oh…” Madeline pulled back when Abigail did as well, the other girl’s top secret information apparently all imparted. It felt a little mean to be gossiping about girls she hadn’t even met yet, so she changed the subject, switching the papers in her grip from hand to hand so she could offer Abigail one hand (and hope her palm wasn’t too sweaty). “I don’t. Do anything if- I mean, I shake!”

Abigail laughed, and seized her hand immediately to enthusiastically pump it up and down. ( _ Mon Dieu,  _ her grip could  _ break bones. _ ) “Glad to hear it!”

Madeline smiled - a little weakly, because when Abigail released her hand again Madeline could see white fingerprints around her knuckles. “I’m Madeline, Madeline Williams.”

“Madeline? Like,  _ in an old house in Paris that was covered with vines _ ?”

“Yes,” said Madeline, in the politely suffering tone of voice of someone who had had the verse opening with that line quoted to her throughout her entire childhood, and tried to discreetly stretch out her cramping fingers without Abigail noticing. “I don’t know any nuns, though.”

“Shame - I always wanted to meet a witchy nun. I mean, it was in all those stories growing up, y’know?” Eh? Abigail was looking wistfully into the metaphorical distance, and Madeline had no idea what she was going on about. “Beautiful young witches shut up in Mexican convents for deviancy because their evil uncles wanted to seize their inheritance, and then them escaping with handsome cowboys who fell _hopelessly_ in love with them and came riding to the rescue. Or ‘ _dashingly roguish’_ pirate captains sailing away with them to a new life in Tahiti.”

Madeline distinctly did  _ not  _ remember any stories growing up about Mexican nuns absconding with pirates to start a new life in Tahiti. Or anywhere else, for that matter. “Um.”

“...No?” Abigail looked genuinely puzzled Madeline wasn’t leaping in with her own variations of the cowboy-pirate-nun love triangle tale. “I could’a sworn-  _ oh! _ ” Her expression brightened with sudden realisation. “Where’re you from, anyway?”

“Kingston, Ontario. Um, that’s in Canada.”

“Ahhh.” Abigail was nodding like that explained  _ anything. _ “Most people here are from Europe places, but you’re not with  _ that  _ accent, so I just assumed you were like me? From the States, I mean.” 

“N-no….” Madeline answered automatically, despite that she’d just asserted that. “Um, no. We drive down to New York to shop about once a month, though?”

“Oh cool! Like New York City? I’ve never actually been there, is it as huge as the movies always make it look?”

“Ah, no, just Syracuse-” Madeline felt a bit like she was on a merry-go-round that was going too fast, and wondered if Abigail ever slowed down (or  _ quieted _ down). What in the world was an American doing at this school anyway? “Abigail, can I ask-”

“Abby,” Abigail interrupted her, all the insistence to show it wasn’t negotiable, but smiling to take the bite out of it. “Please. Abigail sounds so weird and old-fashioned. I was named after my grandmother, and not even the witchy one.” She wrinkled her nose, and Madeline felt like she was missing all the edge pieces in this puzzle.

“Okay, Abby then.”

“Great,” Abigail beamed at her, perfectly pleased at Madeline’s agreement. “I mean, Madeline’s a little bit old-fashioned too, but in a  _ nice _ way.”

Madeline got the distinct feeling that she was never going to get a word in edgewise unless she pressed. She took a breath, and waited for Abigail to pause (oh so briefly) at the end of a sentence.

“But what’re you  _ doing _ here?” Madeline asked, the very long day and slight beginnings of a headache making her blunter than she would otherwise be. She waved a hand to encompass the school. “Here, I mean,  _ I’m _ here because I can’t…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

Abigail’s smile disappeared entirely and she scuffed a shoe against the floor, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear in a familiar nervous gesture. “Neither can I?” she offered after a moment, giving Madeline a funny little half-smile and a shrug. “I can make illusions, but my family didn’t… know what to do with me. They were gonna send me to this school in California, but I guess Headmistress Yi found out about me somehow? Anyway she thought it would be better for me to be here than there, and so here I am!”

Her smile was back, but Madeline swallowed. She knew what a fake smile looked like, and without thinking she reached out and grabbed Abigail’s hand, holding on tight. It startled the smile right off Abigail’s face, and for a moment the two girls just stared at each other.

When Abigail smiled again, it was for real. “C’mon, if Kat had stuff to do, I can give you the tour myself. I’ll show you all the best places to hide from teachers. Not that all of them need hidden from, Karla’s super cool and Isabela’s a lot of fun, you’ll meet them later on-”

Letting Abigail’s chatter wash over her and trying to pay attention, Madeline let herself be dragged.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Madeline, though extremely appreciative of Abigail’s thorough tour, was dead on her feet by the time the other girl had finished with her. Katya had shown Madeline the main building before being called away by yarn issues, but Abigail had done the rest of the school grounds, from the flower garden up by the reception hall, around the art/tech building and library, and all the way down to the summer buildings and boathouse by the lake-shore, the water lapping at the creaking wood of the pier and swallowing up the pebbles that the two girls had skimmed out onto the lake.

The tour completed, Abigail had taken Madeline back to the dorms. Though she’d been talkative all the way around the school (to the point of unintentionally giving Madeline a headache), Abigail seemed subdued when Madeline fished out her new keys, the snowflake charm dangling off the end at odds with the blue conch shell on Abigail’s set.

“They put you in the _Winter_ group, huh?” Abigail grimaced, but didn’t say just _what_ was so bad about the Winter group that had her making such a face. “It’s just along the long corridor from me over in Summer; you turn left up the stairs from the crash room, and I go right.”

“...That’s not too far though?” Madeline asked, hopeful despite her headache. Abigail was the first student she’d met at the school: the first familiar face it would be okay to cling to.

“...Well, no,” said Abigail, but hardly seemed convinced or convincing about it.

They parted on the stairs up from the main ‘crash’ room in the dorms on a somewhat depressed note, Abigail disappearing to the right with the slowest pace Madeline had seen on her so far, Madeline taking the corridor to the left.

There didn’t seem to be anything particularly  _ wintery  _ about the Winter group of student bedrooms, though Madeline was really too tired to poke around the open rooms around hers to check. She went straight to her room, the wooden door marked with a metal number  _ 3  _ to match to engraving on the back of her snowflake charm. The key turned smoothly in the lock, Madeline entering her room at last _ ,  _ grateful to note that a) her luggage had all been delivered up to her room as Marianne had said, and was already waiting for her on the floor, and b) her bed was already made-up and only five paces away, and was  _ wonderfully soft  _ for Madeline to just walk in and finally collapse on.

Madeline groaned in blessed, painful relief, her feet throbbing when she finally got her weight off them. It was a relief, too, to finally have a place that was just  _ hers  _ in the school - and be in it, away from all the, admittedly well-meaning and very helpful, people who had given her so much information to remember all at once. It was wonderful to be away from  _ talking,  _ and having to  _ listen  _ to anything, Madeline content to let her brain take in nothing but how squishy her pillows were against her face, halfway to a much needed cat-nap already in her quiet room.

Her lovely quiet room.

...Madeline’s room was quiet.

Madeline’s sleepiness stuttered to a confused halt as her brain tried to tell her that something was unusual about her surroundings that Madeline just wasn’t  _ quite  _ getting - before the implications of Madeline’s earlier thoughts hit her all at once, her tiredness deserting her all at once as she pushed herself up onto her elbows in startled pleasure.

_ Her room was quiet. _

Rooms were  _ never _ truly quiet, not to Madeline; the furnishings and the brickwork of the building itself always whispered away to her, telling the stories of the hands that had touched it, the feelings that remained and feelings that developed from contact with living things. Sometimes a few  _ non-living  _ things, depending who you asked and what their definitions were.

Even ‘newly made’ items still had  _ something  _ to say about their crafters, about the lands they’d passed through and the airs that had brushed across their surfaces, and, for someone who couldn’t always control just who-what- _ who  _ she wanted to listen to most, it could be something of a headache, especially out in public. It was hard to listen to someone walking beside you when the breeze was murmuring all the secrets from all the houses with open windows in the street (that couple in that house there were arguing about how they wanted a divorce; their neighbour was talking on the phone about how she was worried about her cat at the vet’s, the little girl three doors down, leaning over a crib on the tippy-toes of her feet, loved her new baby brother but was a little disappointed he couldn’t say her name yet). It had been hard to concentrate in her old school - how could Madeline have been expected to hear the teacher asking her a question when all the words scratched into the lid of her desk were reciting all the worries and gossip and boredom of the hundreds of students who had sat there before her?

But now, Madeline noted happily, her heart the lightest it had been since she’d bid goodbye to her father, her new room was  _ quiet:  _ a perfect little island of peace, a clean slate. Even the local witches they’d consulted in Canada hadn’t been able to quiet everything so well. Someone here (here and powerful)  _ had  _ to have magically cleansed it; that was the only explanation. Someone had come in and wiped all the endless stories away, taking away all the chatter from the furniture, from the carpet and curtains and walls, so Madeline could begin anew.

The only words that would be whispered here would be from her  _ own  _ things, things she brought in herself that she already knew how to tune out from familiarity. The only words whispered here would be her own words, her own stories, so however much things  _ outside  _ hurt her head, too much chatter, all at once, she could always come back to her room for quiet _. _

Perhaps this school really  _ had  _ been a good idea.

There was- there was a  _ sound  _ then, something not-quite-like the tinkling bell noise that only Madeline heard when the snow was just beginning to fall at home, and more clouds were waiting just over the horizon. There was a draft with it, just like the snow liked, and Madeline shivered - but it was too late in the year for snow to be falling in France, wasn’t it? Papa had insisted on buying her clothes best suited for  _ summer,  _ and an unseasonal snowfall would catch her completely wrong-footed.

She pushed herself up from her bed, intending to shut the door she’d left gaping open to keep some of the cold out - only to jerk back and _yelp,_ when she turned, at the sight of another girl already standing there, silently filling Madeline’s doorway.

The girl - the. The very tall, very pale, pretty girl - just smiled at Madeline’s response, serene as the moon. “Hello, new girl.”

_ Where had she  _ come  _ from?!  _ Hardly anyone could sneak up on Madeline, let alone stand and  _ stare  _ at her for God knows how long, without her noticing them.  _ Hearing  _ them.

“H-” Madeline swallowed, her breath catch dry at the back of her throat after her yelp before, and forced a rather tremulous smile. This girl was making her nervous; she was too… too  _ something,  _ even without the silent appearance, unusual-looking enough, with her steady gaze and very long, loose hair, so pale blonde it looked almost silver against the dark blue of her dress, that her smile was unnerving. “Hello.”

Her… her guest’s smile turned sweeter at that, and the not-quite-bells tinkled brightly again. (Madeline felt like rubbing her ears, just to shake the ticklish sound of them out.) “I am Anya. Anya Braginskaya.” The same surname as Miss Katya Braginskaya, the teacher? They seemed to have a similar accent - “We will be sharing a kitchen.”

Oh.

Oh!

“We’ll be neighbours?” Madeline asked, a little more warmly, but the other girl -  _ Anya -  _ just shook her head.

“No, my room is number 5,” which was… somewhere further down the corridor, if Madeline’s quick glance to the doors either side of hers earlier was any indication, “but I think we will be seeing each other very much all the same.”

Yeah… That did seem likely, if they both lived on the same corridor. They’d be sharing toilets and showers beside the little kitchenette marked on Madeline’s map for the Winter cluster of rooms as well - all places it was helpful to get along with everyone who used them, if only to share out cleaning.

Madeline tacked her smile on a little firmly, stepping forwards to offer Anya her hand. “I’m Madeline.”

Anya just blinked down at her hand, slowly, before casually stepping around it and straight into Madeline’s room.

“Um _ , _ ” said Madeline, turning back around to watch Anya thoughtfully eying all her piles of unpacked luggage. “Excuse me?”

Anya calmly glanced back at her, as though she  _ hadn’t _ just walked straight into someone’s bedroom without an invitation. “It is bad luck doing things in doorways,” she said.

She could have mentioned that.

“But Madeline is a very pretty name,” Anya blithely continued, ignoring or just not noticing Madeline’s confused floundering. “You are French?”

“Canadian,” said Madeline. And then, belatedly registering Anya’s compliment, adding, “thank you.”

“Oh, I have not met a  _ Canadian  _ before,” said Anya, and tilted her head, regarding Madeline with a sudden intensity that made Madeline instinctively freeze up on the spot. “You are a good first, I think.”

_ Um? _

“...Thank you?” Madeline tried again, utterly lost and wishing very much that Anya would stop- well, stop doing  _ everything _ and stop doing it in Madeline’s bedroom.

_ “Yes,”  _ Anya abruptly decided, as if in response to Madeline’s quiet mental plea to the universe - God, there weren’t  _ really _ telepaths at this school, were they? Madeline had been half-joking about Marianne - stepping straight forwards into Madeline’s personal bubble and grabbing her upper arms before Madeline even thought of reeling back from her. “You are a very good first.”

And then ducked her head just as decisively and kissed Madeline full on the lips.

Madeline didn’t squeak. Possibly because she had already used up her daily allowance of squeaking earlier in what was turning out to be a very long, very emotionally exhausting day, but also possibly because she was too startled to make any noise other than the  _ mmph  _ of all her breath leaving her at once.

Luckily, that didn’t cause too much of a problem, for Anya didn’t seem intent on kissing Madeline for very long. Anya pulled back after a few seconds - that probably seemed a  _ lot  _ longer to Madeline than they did from the other girl’s perspective -, smiling sweetly like she  _ hadn’t _ just well and truly trounced every concept of personal boundaries that Madeline could innocently think of and left Madeline’s lips tingling with sudden inexplicable cold. (Mints?)

Anya’s smile faded a little when she looked down at Madeline again, seemingly confused as to why Madeline was all but  _ wilting  _ in her arms. “...You are not happy?”

“...You,” croaked Madeline, and couldn’t quite manage  _ kissed me,  _ but the hand she lifted up to cover her mouth finished her sentence for her. (Her lips  _ were  _ cold. That wasn’t mints - had Anya been eating ice-cream?)

“Ah,” said Anya, and her smile returned again since she had her answer. “It is a traditional greeting, where I am from. Do they not do the same in Canada?”

“We -” Madeline straightened her back and lifted a few of her fingers away from her mouth, so her words weren’t too muffled when they came out, “ah, we just. Shake hands mostly. With strangers.”

“And with friends?”

Life, apparently done with picking on Madeline for the day, granted her an expected blessing. She was saved from having to answer Anya’s question - and all the awkward questions answering that question would unlock - by a sudden strident call of  _ Anya?  _ echoing down the hallway outside Madeline’s room.

Startled(?) by the sound, Anya flinched - and Madeline flinched with her, since Anya still had a vice-like grip on both her arms.

_ Anya?  _ queried whoever was in the corridor again, and Anya immediately dropped her hold on Madeline, neatly bypassing her hostess, stepping over all of Madeline’s luggage and going over to open the doors to Madeline’s still-empty closet. “I will be borrowing this,” she said.

_ Eh?! _

“‘ _ Borrowing’? _ ” Madeline asked her, bewildered, but Anya just shook her head at her and casually stepped up on the lowest shelf inside the closet, reaching back out with both her hands to grab the doors and pull them shut again after her. “But -” said Madeline, and the doors opened up a crack again, Anya’s light eyes glinting out at her rather ominously from within.

“I am  _ not here, _ ” Anya hissed, and then the closet doors were closed once more.

She was just in time. There were no bell-like sounds to announce Madeline’s next visitor - or even noticeable footsteps on the carpet - , another female stranger rather abruptly appearing in the open doorway of Madeline’s bedroom in a swish of dark blue skirts and with a curt:

“Where is Anya?”

No  _ hello, new girl  _ or anything. Madeline really had to look up some foreign customs for greeting new people.

“Anya,” Madeline parroted, because the only other words that sprang to mind right then were slightly hysterical and confused babblings about strange girls hiding in her closet.

“Yes,” said the  _ new  _ strange girl, sounding exasperated at having to repeat herself. “ _ Anya.  _ Where is she?”

Madeline considered telling her, but took one long look at the girl in front of her - the girl not quite so tall as Anya but twice as pale, her hair, braided back from her face with a dark ribbon,  _ definitely  _ in the silvery range, and her expression as sharp and thin as an icicle - and felt a brief stab of empathy for Anya in the closet. (If this girl hadn’t already seen her,  _ Madeline  _ wouldn’t have minded going to hide in the closet as well, unexpected cold kisses or not.)

“I don’t know an Anya,” said Madeline - which wasn’t  _ technically  _ a lie, since knowing someone was different from having met someone, and could you ever really claim to  _ know  _ someone anyway?

....Even if you could listen to all of their belongings and their auras telling you tale after endless tale about their thoughts and deeds and feelings and lives.

“But I  _ saw  _ her,” the other girl insisted, still looking at Madeline accusingly. Madeline just shrugged, helpless, and her companion heaved out a sigh. “No matter. Perhaps it has not happened yet. But when  _ you  _ see her -”

“Who?”

_ “Anya. _ ” The strange girl’s voice got sharper than ever, only emphasising her accent. (Madeline didn’t know what kind of accent it was, but there was a definite accent. Eastern European?) “When you see her, you will tell her I borrowed her French scientific dictionary, since I could not find her.”

And then she turned about on her heel and left.

“...It was nice meeting you?” Madeline told the empty doorway.

There was no reply.

So Madeline went back to her other ‘guest.’ “She’s gone now,” she told her closet.

“ _ Shhhhhh, _ ” hissed the closet.

Madeline hovered for a few moments, unsure of what to do. She didn’t want to go back and sit on the edge of her bed, staring in silence at her occupied furniture, but nor did she want to start unpacking her things, in case Anya decided to  _ un- _ occupy her furniture and saw something embarrassing in her luggage. Shutting her bedroom door seemed like a good idea (if only to stop  _ more  _ scary/strange people turning up and barging inside), but that would  _ also  _ shut Anya inside the room with Madeline and.

Well.

Madeline stuck her head out the door, checking to see if the corridor was clear and all the…  _ bedroom-looking  _ doors were shut.

They were.

“...She really  _ is  _ gone,” Madeline told her closet, now somewhat forlornly.

She wasn’t really expecting to get a response - other than perhaps another  _ shush - _ , but the closet doors finally clicked open again, Anya still sitting quite comfortably inside but letting her legs hang out to touch the floor. The expression on her face was wary, her eyes flitting about the room as though Madeline were likely to have stuffed her second visitor under the  _ bed  _ or something, but, seeing no-one, Anya relaxed, her face breaking out into its earlier smile again (that left  _ Madeline _ the one feeling wary instead).

“...Natasha,” Anya explained, tipping her head towards the empty doorway so all her silvery hair slid to the side. “My sister. She is smart, but her French is…” a glance up to the ceiling, accompanied by a very theatrical  _ hum,  _ “not so good? Her science is better than okay, so the teachers, they make her to write her essays in French. But that is two lessons in one, and my science and my French are  _ very  _ good, so she asks me for help. She asks a lot, even when there are better people to ask.”

“Well,” said Madeline. And floundered for something to say that wasn’t either rude or going to prolong having her bedroom inhabited by strange furniture-borrowing/stealing for longer than was necessary. “I… isn’t it nice she looks up to you?”

Anya frowned at her, both feet flat on the floor. “Why is it nice that she is smaller? She is closer to my vital organs.”

“That’s not -” Madeline flustered, and tried not to wring her hands. It was a sign of nervousness, even if her fingers felt suddenly cold. “It means - I meant she  _ admires  _ you.”

_ “Oh!”  _ Anya looked pleased, and a cool weight lifted itself abruptly from Madeline’s shoulders. “...You do not have any brothers or sisters, do you,  _ canadienne? _ ” Madeline shook her head, and Anya nodded sagely, the seer of the empty closet. “It is different, if you do. I love my baby sister, but sometimes she can be…”

Anya trailed off. Madeline waited patiently in the middle of her bedroom floor, wondering what adjective the other girl would finally select from the air (for she had a few of her own to describe  _ Natasha  _ already) - but after a few moments of silence Anya stood up, so sudden Madeline jolted back a step from her.

“I shall go now. Do svidaniya!”

“Ah-” Anya didn’t even wait long enough for Madeline to manage a  _ bye,  _ departing both Madeline’s closet and Madeline’s bedroom quickly enough that Madeline’s mouth was left flapping open like a fish’s.

Madeline hurried after her - well, to the door _ ,  _ at least - peering cautiously around the lintel as Anya had gone  _ right  _ down the corridor, to another one of the closed bedrooms. Madeline watched which door she went into (if only so she knew which bedroom to carefully  _ avoid  _ in the near future), before retreating back inside her now  _ serenely empty  _ bedroom sanctuary, shutting - and locking - her bedroom door behind her so she could receive no more surprise visitors.

And, after slipping off her shoes, went straight back to wearily face-planting into all the divine comforts of her bed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The first time Madeline met the Vargas twins, Feliciana was crying and Chiara was swearing. She didn’t know it at the time, but that gave her a lot of what she needed to know about the personalities of the sisters.

Well - alright - it was probably a little bit of a stretch to say Feliciana was  _ crying _ , but there was definitely that sense about her, wringing her hands and wailing in Italian the way she was. Chiara was standing over her sister, hands on her hips and looking neither impressed nor pleased at Feliciana’s wailing, though it was hard to tell her exact expression through the sleek black sunglasses that were shielding her eyes.

Madeline stopped in the doorway of the main dining room, not sure they would appreciate the interruption to… whatever was going on. Their argument was occurring mostly in Italian, and though Romance languages did have certain similarities, they might as well be speaking Old Norse for all Madeline understood. Neither of them seemed to realise she was there, too busy arguing in the space between two of the room’s long tables, so Madeline stayed hovering around the doorway with the growing uncertainty over whether it would be more awkward to stay or try and slip away after hearing so much of their argument (for a given value of ‘hearing’). Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d napped through dinner, and she blushed in embarrassment. Neither twin appeared to notice, thankfully.

There was a sigh from just behind Madeline, and she turned quickly, realizing she was blocking the doorway into the dining hall. The girl behind her was tall (though not so tall as Anya, quite), with broad shoulders and a square jaw. With her hands planted on her hips, Madeline could see the muscles of her arms defined by the light spilling out of the dining hall, and Madeline had the (slightly uncomfortable) realization that this girl could probably pick her up, sling her over a shoulder, and carry her away. Though at least,  _ at least, _ Madeline didn’t feel like she  _ would _ pick her up and carry her away; there was something very solidly reassuring about her, though maybe that was Madeline still reeling from her earlier encounter with the perplexing Anya.

Her sigh had been exasperated, annoyed, resigned, but when Madeline’s gaze finally reached her face (after getting stuck, slightly longer than briefly, at her impressive cleavage) her exasperation wasn’t directed at Madeline but beyond her, into the dining hall and centered squarely on the quarreling twins. She had fine, straight, blond hair cut close around her ears, and, of all things, a pair of heavy headphones tucked over them. She glanced at Madeline briefly, gave her a polite nod. “Luise.”

It took Madeline a moment to realise she was introducing herself, and then she jerked a bit, feeling herself flush red. “Ah! I’m Madeline.” She offered her hand belatedly, and Luise took it to give a firm shake before she once again turned her attention elsewhere.

She strode into the dining hall, catching the attention of both twins as she clapped her hands briskly. “Feliciana! English please, and watch your words. Chiara -”

"Fuck you!"

Feliciana frowned sharply, and stopped wringing her hands to smack her sister lightly on the back of her head. "Chiara!"

Chiara yelped, glowering at her sister from behind her sunglasses. "Not all of us like stupid potato-eating -"

"That's enough," Luise didn't raise her voice, but her tone was firm enough that the twins stopped bickering to look over at her, Feliciana apologetic and Chiara still scowling. Luise put a hand on Madeline's shoulder, making her squeak in startlement. "You're making a disgrace of yourselves. This is Madeline."

"Oh!" Feliciana brightened instantly, and Madeline got the impression if her exclamation was written down, there would have been several warbling tildes in it. She practically skipped over to grab Madeline's hand, leaving Chiara to plunk down on one of the nearby benches and cross her arms petulantly. "It's wonderful to meet you! We don't get new students very often, certainly not in the middle of a term, we've all been so excited since Headmistress said you were coming!"

"Who's this 'we'?" Chiara grumbled. Madeline glanced at her, but Luise and Feliciana just ignored her.

"I'm Feliciana Vargas, and that's my twin sister Chiara. I -" She looked like she wanted to say something more, but stopped and bit her lip, looking up at Luise with wide, imploring eyes that reminded Madeline of a gentle doe. Or a kitten.

Luise smiled, very slightly, and ruffled a hand over Feliciana's hair, making her squeak and flail. "You don't have to apologize for Chiara," she said, in a tone that was most definitely an oft-repeated reminder. "Her actions are her own."

"For fuck's sake," Chiara snorted, hauling herself up and absently grabbing a muffin from one of the bowls Madeline just noticed that were sitting on the tables, stomping over to offer Madeline her hand. Madeline hesitated only a moment before taking it, and Chiara's scowl deepened. Her handshake was firm and brief. "Pleased to meet you, welcome to the madness, don't let your powers run wild unless you want permanent, revolving detention."

"Speaking from experience?" Madeline managed, her tone wry. Chiara's eyebrow flicked upward for a moment, and then she shrugged, taking a bite of her muffin.

(Now that she was closer, her sunglasses were practically yelling at Madeline, bright anger and throbbing pain. It was giving her a headache already, and she made a mental note to tell Elaine. It wouldn't be fair if she started avoiding Chiara just because her possessions were noisy.)

Feliciana sighed gustily, breaking back into the conversation. "Chiara's just  _ awful _ about using her powers, even on teachers!"

"The idiot deserves it," Chiara snorted. "If they can't find a way to counter me, it's their own damn fault."

"Is that what the sunglasses are for?" Madeline wondered aloud and all three gave her looks with varying degrees of surprise and thoughtfulness. She couldn't think of any other reason for the sunglasses to have soaked up so much malice.

"...Yeah," Chiara admitted after a moment, scowl back in place, and then she nudged her way between Luise and Feliciana to sweep out, leaving the rest of them staring at her back as she strode down the hall, munching on the rest of the muffin.

"...Sorry," Feliciana whispered once her sister was gone, and Madeline shook herself and offered her a warm smile.

"Luise is right, it's not your fault what Chiara does,"

Feliciana brightened a little at the reassurance, though she still looked a bit droopy. "Sorry for saying sorry, then. At home, we're just a unit, just ' _ the twins _ ', so everyone expects..."

Madeline decided to take her cue from Luise and ruffled Feliciana's hair, making her giggle and brighten further. "Well, if Chiara doesn't want to be friendly right now, that's fine. I'm sure she'll come around. Right now, I missed dinner, so how would I go about getting some?"

The mention of food chased the last of the gloom away, and Feliciana nodded enthusiastically. As she ran toward the kitchen doors to investigate what might be available, Luise caught Madeline's arm to hold her back a moment. "Thank you."

Madeline blinked, but didn't have to ask what she meant, just smiled. "No thanks necessary, Feliciana seems wonderful, and shouldn't be held back just because Chiara may have issues."

The expression on Luise's face went a little strange, but she didn't say anything. She just nodded and turned to follow Feliciana into the kitchen, leaving Madeline wondering if she'd just opened a can of worms.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Dinner with Luise and Feliciana had been… fun. Feliciana was bright and friendly, and Luise, though quiet, seemed very kind. Luise, it turned out, wore enchanted headphones that cut off her hearing completely, because her magic manifested as extremely enhanced hearing that caused migraines and other problems. She’d compensated by learning to read lips, and she also knew German Sign Language if she was around someone else who knew it. (Feliciana was learning, she was proud to point out.) As for Feliciana, she could use her words to manipulate the thoughts and feelings of others if she tried (and sometimes, to her distress, if she didn’t try at all). Madeline had shyly told them about her own problems as well, and their understanding and sympathy had given her an incredible warm fuzzy feeling. (Maybe she’d be alright here, after all.)

After dinner she returned to her room, intending to relax and read and try and wind down from this crazy day. As she was settling in, though, she realised she’d left her bag in the dining hall, and with a sigh went to go retrieve it.

But upon stepping out of the stairwell across from the crash room, she was startled to find someone standing in the hall that she’d never seen before. A  _ boy _ , in fact, facing away from her and looking out a window across the darkened lawn. He was a bit taller than her, though a certain spindliness made her think that he was about her age, not yet done all his growing and broadening. His hair was a soft gold, cut neatly above his ears, and he was wearing jeans and what looked like an old-fashioned fighter pilot’s jacket, complete with wool trim around the collar.

She didn’t remember making a sound, but she must have made some sort of surprised squeak, because the boy turned away from the window to look at her.

His eyes were blue (the exact same colour as Abigail’s, Madeline would notice later) and wide behind wire-framed glasses, and there was a scattering of freckles across his nose. Madeline noticed all that absently, because she was suddenly overcome with a weird feeling of… of  _ something _ , not  _ wrongness _ , but….

It was similar to what she felt when she encountered ghosts and spirits, a sort of vacantness and existence all at the same time that made her feel a bit dizzy with the contradictions. But this boy, this… spirit, for lack of a better word, he didn’t feel quite like a ghost either. He felt more like… almost an object, or maybe an animal, it was  _ so _ hard to explain even when you had magic-related words to draw on. She could  _ almost _ hear him whispering to her in the way that objects with a lot of love and history did, thrumming on a register that was just a little too low for her to hear clearly. She felt loneliness, the dull, heavy pain of rejection, and something else, shining like a sun through this boy’s entire existence, his center and focus and  _ world _ -

“Oh! Al, sorry, I didn’t realise I’d left you out here- Maddie?”

_ Abigail. _

The boy - Al - seemed to wake up with Abigail’s arrival, offering her a warm smile as he shook his head. “It’s alright, no harm done.”

Abigail looked relieved, but when she glanced over at Madeline her expression changed, turned wary and closed off, and she reached over to put a hand on Al’s arm. To Madeline’s shock, he faded away before her eyes, turned into ripples and shadows in the air, and then nothing.

“Wait,” she blurted, eyes wide, unaware Abigail was  _ that _ powerful, “he was one of your illusions?”

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Abigail bit her lip, clutched her backpack a little tighter, and then turned to hurry down the hall. Madeline called after her to wait, tried to follow, but when she did Abigail broke into a run, making it clear she wasn’t in a mood to talk. Madeline slowed, letting her get away while she turned what had just happened over in her mind. No wonder Al hadn’t seemed to have much will of his own, if Abigail  _ made _ him….

School here was going to be way more eventful than she’d thought.


	3. Scorn With Lips Divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies from both of us that it's - ALMOST (WE MADE IT BY ONE DAY) - been a year since the last chapter, but hopefully this will have been worth the wait.  
> Many thanks to Crys and Hitsu who we overwork and slightly traumatise as our betas and soundboards.

  
_Grave mother of majestic works,_  
_From her isle-alter gazing down,_  
_Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,_  
_And, King-like, wears the crown:_

_Her open eyes desire the truth._  
_The wisdom of a thousand years_  
_Is in them. May perpetual youth_  
_Keep dry their light from tears_

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson, _Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights_

 

 

Morning came quickly, but it was peaceful waking up. Her bed was soft and cozy and everything was quiet, even the rustling of the pillowcase as she shifted was just the folds of cloth rubbing together and nothing more. Drowsing half-asleep, Madeline was waiting for her papa to come in and tell her breakfast was ready until she actually opened her eyes.

She suffered some confusion then, peering at the fluffy white curtains with their scalloped, ruffled edge that she certainly didn’t remember buying, but then the last few days came back to her in a rush and she couldn’t help curling up a little under the blankets involuntarily. Maybe if she stayed here everyone would forget there was a new girl.

But she thought Elaine was rather unlikely to forget, and then there was the matter of the other students, Anya and Abigail both so cheerful and unconcerned about invading others’ spaces. They’d surely come find her if they noticed a long absence. But… in a way, that was nice, having people who weren’t your parents who actually cared enough to come find you.

Madeline felt a tiny trickle of what might have been hope, and finally sat up.

Her bags were still neatly piled in the corner, un-unpacked. After dinner the night before she’d only had the energy to dig out her toiletries bag and toothbrush before crawling into bed. Now Madeline dug a little deeper to retrieve fresh panties and a bra. She considered a shower, but her nerves were still a little too fragile and with the way her luck was lately she’d probably run into someone new in the shared bathroom and have to do introductions mostly naked.

Showering later tonight was definitely a better idea.

After changing her underthings, Madeline padded over to open up her wardrobe. The school only had a very loose sort of uniform; there was a requirement to wear the school _colours_ during class days, and the styles had to be modest and practical, but the girls had their choice of skirts or slacks and a variety of different blouses and shirts. The school had provided Madeline’s parents with a catalog of pre-approved clothes that could be purchased, so a few sets were already waiting on Madeline to arrive, only slightly askew on their hangers from Anya’s assault on her closet.

The school’s colours were red, white and blue, out of deference to the vast majority of European flags, Madeline supposed. After a few moments of thought she selected a pleated skirt in a warm red, and a white blouse. She wasn’t entirely clear if she was supposed to wear all _three_ colours every day; that hadn’t been a part of Elaine’s otherwise thorough spiel yesterday. She rummaged through her bags until she found a set of blue ribbons to tie her hair back with, and decided that was good enough. Surely she’d be corrected if something was out of place, and hopefully they’d be a bit lenient on the new girl.

Her stomach growled just as she finished tying up her hair, and she couldn’t help a little laugh. On a whim, she grabbed the beret her papa had bought her, the same red as her skirt, and left her room feeling optimistic about the day ahead.

Outside it was sunny and starting to warm toward summer, and it buoyed her spirits further as she trotted down the paths toward the kitchens and breakfast. She could hear laughter somewhere across the lawns, but didn’t encounter anyone else. As she pulled open the door, the smells of bacon and sausage made her stomach growl again, and her steps quickened as she rounded a corner toward the dining hall.

And it was then life decided her morning had been going a little too well, as she nearly ran full tilt into another woman.

Madeline made a little, startled sound, stepping back quickly, an apology already on her lips. She looked up (and up, and _up_ , Madeline was average height but suddenly she felt _small, again_ ) to meet the eyes of a young woman with sandy blond hair that fell a little unkempt around her shoulders. She looked rather unimpressed at nearly being run into, and Madeline felt her ears turn red, followed by the rest of her face. Couldn’t even _one_ of her introductions to her new schoolmates go without something unexpected happening and making Madeline feel like maybe she didn’t belong here after all? “I- oh tabernac, I’m sorry, I just-” she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself.

(She wouldn’t understand why until later, but this woman’s clothes, though ostensibly clean, whispered of dirt; clean organic topsoil full of grass roots and earthworms, and deeper, darker, damper, _wilder_ dirt, dirt that was just a little pressure away from being stone, metal, _gold_.)

“I’m Madeline.” She opened her eyes again and held out her hand, determined to be friendly and hoping her smile wasn’t wavering too badly.

The young woman (she looked about Katya’s age or maybe even a touch older, and Madeline was dearly hoping she hadn’t nearly just run down a _teacher_ ) just gave her a strange look and crossed her arms, tucking her hands neatly under her elbows. The motion drew Madeline’s gaze down, and she suddenly realised the other woman was wearing gloves; long sturdy things that retreated up her wrists and under her long sleeves, leaving no scrap of skin exposed. In fact, she wasn’t showing an inch of skin besides her face, she was even wearing a scarf to hide her neck. She had a touch-based power then, clearly, even if she wasn’t practically singing to Madeline of jangled nerves behind a careful facade. As she crossed her arms, she lowered her chin a little, peering down at Madeline and unconsciously hiding in her scarf and high collar all at once.

“I don’t shake.”

“Ah…” Madeline dropped her hand quickly, remembering Abigail’s rambling about shaking hands the day before. _Do you explode or something?_ “Sorry.”

“You didn’t know, now you do.” The other girl shrugged, arms still crossed as she moved to step around Madeline, continue past her. “Are you coming?”

“Uh…” Madeline felt like she’d missed something, turned around to look at the woman’s back owlishly. “Where?”

She looked back over her shoulder at Madeline, and now she looked faintly amused, prior slight apparently forgotten (or at least, forgiven). “Breakfast. I’m Wil, by the way.”

Madeline blinked, but hurried to catch up with the taller girl. “I only arrived yesterday, do you usually come to breakfast about this time?”

“I don’t come up here much, unless I need to see Elaine. Em - my sister - and I live in the old stables along with the Spanish idiots.” She glanced down, saw Madeline’s wide-eyed expression. “...I mean Isabela and Gloria. If you’ve somehow missed meeting them so far, you’re damn lucky.”

“Um. I’m sorry if it’s rude to ask,” Madeline had to almost run to keep up with her longer stride, went a little breathless by consequence. Her heart was beating too fast, but she wasn’t sure if that was the sudden pre-breakfast exercise or something about Wil (stern, no-nonsense, not sharp and prickly in quite the same way as Elaine but- full of _corners_ nonetheless). “But are you a teacher? Or a student?”

Wil paused, microscopically, Madeline only saw it because she was watching, a slight jump from one step to the next. But then she was striding smoothly down the hall again, pivoting around a door frame to slide into the kitchens in pursuit of a quiet breakfast. “Something in between.”

Madeline wasn’t sure if she could follow or not - the kitchens were, well, _kitchens,_ and usually a restricted area everywhere else she’d been -, so she went into the dining room proper instead.

Breakfast was obviously ‘help yourself,’ served from a long hatch between the dining room and the kitchen, and an even longer countertop just beside it. The hatch’s counter held all the hot food, kept warm on hot metal trays or kept in covered pots with long spoons poking out the top, and the countertop beside it had everything else: steaming flasks labelled with ‘water’, ‘chocolate’, ‘coffee’, and a toxic sticker; jugs of milk, fruit juice, and water; boxes of tea; baskets of fruit, bread, cakes and pastries; a few plates of sliced cheese and cold meats; three boxes of cereal; bowls of condiments and unidentifiable other stuff, and a slightly battered-looking yellow toaster at the far end that someone had slapped an Iron Man sticker on.

Madeline picked up a tray, plate and cutlery and headed for the hatch and its hot food first. She’d arrived at a good time; the food was still piping hot, steaming in the air, but there was only one fat sausage left rolling around its particular tray. Madeline grabbed it for herself, and then switched tongs to pick up some hash browns and fried bread. Switching tongs again, she poked dubiously at what she _assumed_ was some kind of European bacon - only to _shriek_ when something white and black swooped in at her arm and plate from the side. Madeline leapt backwards from the hatch instinctively, brandishing her bacon tongs in a very good attempt at the position of _en garde._

Unfortunately, Madeline’s assailant didn’t appear overly interested in the attempted stances of fencing amateurs, too busy stealing the sausage from Madeline’s plate and running, in a little patter of talons, to immediately devour it in the corner of the hatch. Most birds didn’t really care about fencing or bacon tongs - unless there was _bacon_ in the bacon tongs -, and it _was_ a bird that had attacked Madeline and her breakfast, albeit one that Madeline and her pounding heart had not expected to see in eastern France.

Bewildered, Madeline lowered her tongs. She didn’t have the heart in her to take food from an obviously hungry little bird - though there was definitely a pout in her soul because the bird had just _had_ to take _the last sausage_ -, but the universe was really being terribly unfair to her with its weirdness that morning.

She informed it as much, having to voice the words aloud so she could try and start to believe them: “A toucan just stole my sausage.”

The toucan lifted its brightly-coloured beak from Madeline’s sausage and snapped: “I’m a _puffin!”_

“Sorry!” Madeline blurted out on reflex, flustered at being heard being so rude - before, once more, the absurdity of the situation reasserted its presence to her, and she found herself raising her hand to her forehead because her head felt just _too full_ of everything and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Unfortunately, the hand she chose to try and rub away her headache with was the one holding the tongs, which just meant she got a dribble of cooling grease plopping down onto her fringe. “...I just apologised to a talking puffin that stole my sausage.”

“He’ll have your bacon too, if you’re not careful.” Madeline did _not_ shriek when a hand suddenly dropped itself heavily on her shoulder, but she definitely leapt a bit as her soul - only _just_ coming back to her body after her fright with the bird - once more escaped her, wailing something about neither of their hearts being able to handle much more this.

Madeline peered over her shoulder. And up. Again.

She saw: red plaid and denim. Pale skin. Messy yellow hair. Grinning, very white teeth.

She heard: the shriek of a whistle. The wind in the trees. A fire crackling. And the very particular _thud_ of something soft and fleshy hitting something incredibly dense. “Um.”

“He wouldn’t,” said a young and petulant voice beside the blonde stranger (woman), _much_ closer to the floor, “be stealing anyone’s anything if you hadn’t burnt _our_ sausages and made Sonja mad.”

The stranger looked down when Madeline did, although Madeline’s look was more curious, and the woman’s cheerfully fond. “Lies. He eats his way through half my plate _every morning_.”

The sulky one was a small, thin girl, barely into adolescence (if she was in adolescence at all). She was paler than anyone Madeline had ever seen (a fact Madeline wouldn’t find terribly strange, except she had met both Anya and Natasha the day before), silvery hair cut into a bob and her neck and wrists disappearing under the layers of her clothing. The brightest thing about her were two purple hairclips keeping the sides of her hair from her face, both shaped like happy little whales.

The silver girl didn’t look either surprised or impressed. “He says he only does that because _someone_ should be eating the food rather than making moony eyes at Sonja, waiting for her coffee to kick in.”

“I don’t make _moony eyes._ ” The blonde woman looked wounded at the accusations being levelled at her, turning to yell at the puffin in the food hatch (now hungrily eyeing up the bacon). “Oi, bird; I don’t make _moony eyes,_ you hear?”

The puffin… puffed up, and promptly yelled back: “Then why did ya burn the damn sausages?”

“You don’t need to be making _eyes_ to burn sausages!”

“Just be usin’ them to look at something that _ain’t_ the breakfast!”

“Um,” said Madeline again, cautiously trying to duck away from the hand that was _still_ on her shoulder without making it look like that was what she was trying to do. “Excuse me…?”

Everyone in the dining room ignored her. The woman arguing with the puffin kept arguing with the puffin, and the little silver girl apparently gave up on both of them and did what Madeline was trying to do, trotting off to examine the food hatch. She huffed a breath when she saw that there were no sausages left rolling around in the tray and fetched a deep bowl instead, standing on her tip-toes to carefully ladle something - oatmeal - out of one of the covered pots. Having forgotten a tray, she left her bowl by the pot to go and get one - and hesitated on the way back, seeing Madeline try another faint _excuse me_ to her distracted captor.

When Madeline smiled at her (Madeline tried very hard to not make it look like a wild _please help me,_ and knew she failed miserably), the girl spoke, holding her tray tight against her chest - between her and Madeline, like a shield. “...Sorry about your sausage. Mr. Puffin usually has better manners, but he’s very hungry.”

...She looked like she was waiting for Madeline to yell at her.

Madeline _wouldn’t._ “He just surprised me.”

“I’m sorry,” said the girl, before turning her large eyes on the still-bickering puffin. “ _You_ should say sorry too.”

Halfway through a rude retort to the woman behind Madeline, the bird’s beak closed with a _click._ And then opened again to say haughtily: “It’s a dog eat dog world, and I’m the top poodle.”

“You’re a _bird_ ,” said the blonde woman, as the girl offered out her tray to the hatch for the puffin to daintily step onto like a king finding his red carpet, “and this is the dining hall, not _Fight Club_.”

“This is Mr. Puffin,” said the girl.

“And _this,_ ” the hand lifted itself at _last_ from Madeline’s shoulder, and Madeline immediately - and as subtly as possible - shuffled a step or two away ( _freedom_ ) from the woman it belonged to. Instead, the hand settled atop the girl’s silvery hair, “is Lilja.”

‘Lilja’ smile-winced uncomfortably, and ducked under the hand on her head with much more ease than Madeline.

Undaunted, the woman with them merely swung up her thumb to point at herself. “Karla.”

“I want bacon,” said Mr. Puffin.

“Stop interrupting!” ‘Karla’ closed her fingers around the bird’s beak, much to Mr. Puffin’s muffled curses and Lilja’s wobbling trying to balance the weight of the angry bird hopping on her tray. “And you’re.... Margaret? Maddison. No, it’s French - Marinette?”

“Madeline,” said Lilja.

“Madeline!” Karla beamed, carefree as a summer’s day. “That’s the one.”

Unfortunately, her joy meant loosening her grip on the puffin, who seized the opportunity. “Ya might’ve gotten it _sooner_ if ya’d been listenin’ to Sonja yesterday.”

Karla’s grip tightened again. Harder than before. “Welcome to the school. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe it’s time for _food._ ”

And so everyone went on with getting their breakfast. Madeline was a little bewildered how Karla, Lilja and their(?) puffin could just get on with getting food quite calmly after… after _all that,_ but they were probably used to it. Lilja put a small plate of bacon on the tray beside her oatmeal for Mr. Puffin to eat, and covered her oatmeal in sugar and berries from the table. Karla filled her plates with bread, jam and pastries, and placed both a glass of orange juice and a mug of something hot and terrifyingly _black_ from the canister marked with a toxic sticker on Lilja’s trays and hers.

Mr. Puffin helped by eating all of his bacon and then demanding Lilja get him some more.

 _Nobody_ explained why the puffin talked.

Madeline helped herself to some scrambled eggs and limp bacon, pausing at the table to pour herself some coffee and grab a sugar-sprinkled pastry. (She contemplated taking a madeleine instead, but couldn’t bear the puns on her first real day if anyone saw her eating it and made the connection.) There was no way she felt either mentally or emotionally prepared enough to try sitting at a table with Karla, Lilja and the puffin after her interaction with them already that morning, so instead clutched her tray more tightly to herself and headed, instead, over to the table where Wil was sitting alone after slipping in unnoticed sometime during the commotion.

The older girl (woman?) was meticulously spreading what looked like peanut butter over two slices of bread, and then covering the lot with chocolate sprinkles. She didn’t look up as Madeline approached her, so Madeline had to initiate conversation with a timid:

“...Can I sit with you?”

Wil still didn’t look up at her, though her hand paused for a moment in its determined sprinkling. “...You really are new.”

That didn’t sound encouraging. “Um,” said Madeline. “So -”

“I don’t care,” Wil said, jerking her head to the side for a moment at the rest of the empty table she was sitting at in a way that read as a dismissive _sit where you like._

So Madeline tried to - except trying to take the seats that were both directly opposite and beside Wil led to her getting a cool level _look_ shot at her that made something inside her stomach shrivel up and die. Eventually, by trial and elimination, she ended up sitting roughly on Wil’s diagonal, though she was far enough to the side she would have to stretch to touch Wil’s ankle under the table with her foot.

Not that Madeline was _trying_ to touch Wil’s ankle! But there was. That sort of distance between them. And quiet.

Except for the crunching of Wil’s chocolate sprinkles as she ate.

…The last time Madeline had been at a breakfast this awkward had been three years ago when she’d stayed for a sleepover at a non-witch’s friends house, and the fruit bowl had mentioned her friend’s father was having an affair with his coworker. Who he’d slept with on the breakfast table.

Madeline poked her eggs. “...Are mealtimes always like this?”

“I don’t eat here much,” said Wil.

“Oh.” She’d said that before, hadn’t she?

There was a soft sound, and apparently Wil had decided to take pity on Madeline, because she sighed and set down the last of the piece of bread she was eating. “Dinners are worst, because nearly everyone comes for food at the same time. Lunchtime is broken up between classes, usually, and people eating in other places.” She cupped her hands rather moodily around her coffee mug. “ _Breakfast_ is usually quiet. People show up when they wake up, or they skip. Most of the teachers eat in their own rooms.” Her face darkened further, and Madeline edged a little further away from Wil in her seat. “If they don’t steal _other people’s_ food instead.”

“Oh…” Madeline’s vocabulary was quickly falling into disuse; she had no idea how to respond to that, instead casting a slightly curious look over at the table where Karla, Lilja and the puffin had taken themselves. Food stealing…?

“Karla,” said Wil, blunt and blandly informative. “Sørensen. Teaches PE, bad habits, and believing in yourself. Lilja’s her…” She took a sip of her drink, searching for a suitable word, “family.”

“And the puffin?”

“Lilja’s.”

“...Why does it _talk_?”

Wil put down her coffee, and Madeline looked back at her hearing the mug’s quiet _thunk_ on the table. Wil was, Madeline noted with mild alarm, actually _looking_ at her. Directly looking at her.

Wil had _really_ green eyes, intense as sunlight on green bottle glass.

“... _Magic,_ ” said Wil, and it took Madeline a long, _long_ blank two minutes to realise that the slight upward quirk to Wil’s lips meant the older girl was teasing her.

_“...Oh-!”_

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mornings were not, as a general rule, a difficult thing for the young woman christened Wilhemina de Vries - now called _Wil_ except in paperwork and by the exceptionally annoying. She always woke naturally, stoic if not serene, with rare need for the alarm set on her bedside table in case of emergency. Those who rose early and prepared seized the day’s opportunities before anybody else could, and frequently got a good hour’s peace before idiots stumbled out of bed besides.

Unfortunately, not every morning presented opportunities Wil wished to seize.

Or, better put, some mornings presented opportunities Wil would _dearly_ love to seize, but was not allowed to due to murder being illegal in most nation-states.

After getting washed, dressed, and carefully checking her appearance over in the mirror for unnecessary bare skin, Wil opened her bedroom door _that_ morning in full pursuit of the familiar delicious scent of her little sister’s, Emma’s, cooking. Only to find the little kitchen opposite her rooms in the old stables occupied by three bodies - two of which incredibly surplus to breakfast requirements, making Wil’s gloved hand tighten dangerously on her bedroom’s doorknob. One, of course, was the seventeen year-old Emma, putting her gift and her love of cooking to use as she worked busily at their tiny stove, humming a silly counting song their mother had taught them and their brother when they had been younger. The other two -

The other two were, unfortunately, equally as familiar, and - at least in Wil’s opinion and ignoring Emma’s butter-heart for a pretty, hungry face - decidedly unwelcome. Teachers, both of them, and supposedly adults: Gloria and Isabela Fernandez Carriedo, who lived in the private apartment at the _other_ end of the old stables where they were perfectly capable of making their _own_ breakfasts without scrounging from their students.

“Goedemorgen!” said Emma, seeing Wil standing (glowering) in the kitchen doorway when she turned around to slide her latest plated offering (a _boerenomelet_ ) onto the breakfast table. She smiled, bright and cheerful, as though she _hadn’t_ allowed irritating intruders into their family mealtime _again._

“...Goedemorgen,” Wil replied, a great deal more tersely (because it would take more than two opportunistic and sprawling Iberians invading their kitchenette to be outright rude to her sister), and glowered at Isabela, who had dumped her things in Wil’s seat. _Again._

Isabela, apparently too lazy to even refill her own coffee cup and wake herself up sufficiently to appreciate all of Emma’s hard work slaving for their stomachs, just continued to snore with her cheek on the counter, brown hair spilling over her shoulders and the cutlery.

Gloria, drinking her own milky coffee (or Isabela’s share of the coffee, anyway) nodded absently in Wil’s direction and helpfully picked Isabela’s head up from the counter by her hair, so Emma could put the fresh omelette down in its place. Then Gloria just as helpfully _replaced_ Isabela’s head in the exact same position with the omelette as a pillow, so her sister’s next snore breathed hot eggs and broccoli up her nose.

As Isabela finally woke up, choking, Wil turned to Emma. _“Why_ are they here again?”

“ _Wil,_ ” Emma said reproachfully, a fresh egg already in her hand to break into the bowl below it.

“They have their _own_ kitchen. Let them eat their own food.”

The _crack_ of the eggshell was lost in the sound of Isabela coughing and Gloria thumping her sister on the back with the same level of disinterest she had had in putting Isabela’s face in an omelette.

Emma’s lips were pursed - some of the egg had gotten in the bowl. She was distracted by Wil. “we’re cooking anyway, and it’s _nice_ having company for breakfast.”

“It’s annoying enough having their company in _class,_ never mind first thing in the morning.”

Emma looked even _more_ reproachful. “Do you have to be so blunt?”

“So blunt,” Gloria agreed, far too sanguine for the conversation and accent thick. Wil glared at her for the interruption, and because this was all her and her sister’s fault in the first place. She blinked, full dark lashes in slow motion, and Wil couldn’t tell if the older witch was actually composed or still half-asleep at the table. “Are you trying to curdle the milk?”

Something in Wil’s jaw locked - she didn’t have to deal with this. “Thank you for cooking,” she told her sister, “but I’ll get something in the dining room.”

Isabela looked up from where she’d been rubbing her face clean on a dish-towel. “ _Mina,_ you don’t have to -”

Wil let the building’s door swing shut on all of them, the spring morning wind cool on her face as she stalked across the old stable courtyard and out into the school grounds proper.

Unfortunately, the morning did not improve. Wil made it inside the main building before _someone_ almost ran straight into her turning a corner in the hallway, a quick impression of _red hat and blonde hair_ as she attempted to screech to a halt before the other person hit her. Her hands, automatically, had come up to brace themselves for a collision - but then, after an agonising three seconds, Wil’s brain kicked in again, and she lowered them, her hands turning from cups to self-recriminating claws that she tried to lower out of sight before they shook.

_Stupid._

The unfamiliar girl who had run into her - the new girl they’d been told would be arriving, surely, to be wandering around the main building in the school colours - stuttered out apologies, of course, and then slowly realised that she had to look up - and up, and _up -_ to offer those apologies to Wil’s face.

She blushed pinker than the dark cherry blossoms Hotaru preferred grown near the library.

What an easily flustered girl. She couldn’t be any older than seventeen, surely, all huge doe eyes behind the frames of her glasses, a bright red beret and Canadian French oaths on her lips.

“I’m Madeline,” she said. And held out her hand for Wil to shake.

Though Wil’s heart rate had gone back to normal after their almost-collision, _that_ was not something she was willing to entertain, even on a good day. Instead of taking _Madeline’s_ extended hand, Wil pointedly folded her arms, hiding the slightly anxious twitch of her fingers between her elbows and her body.

“I don’t shake.”

She saw the moment Madeline got the hint, the way the smaller girl’s gaze tracked across the clothing Wil was wearing: high-collared shirt, scarf, long sleeves, the long, thick gloves that Wil wore every day that ended a third of the way up her forearms.

Everyone got it. Eventually.

Madeline started to apologise again, but her hand dropped as quickly as though Wil had announced she had the plague. Wil wasn’t in the mood for hearing apologies for her own life, not on an empty stomach, so cut the new girl off with an introduction of her own and a not-so-subtle hint that they both make their way to the dining hall.

“Are you a teacher?” Madeline asked her en-route. “Or a student?”

It wasn’t the first time Wil had been asked that. But it was the first time in a long while, enough that it slid in under Wil’s ribs like a knife through butter. “Something in between.”

It was rude to leave a new girl in the dining room alone, but Wil was too tired for further questioning about her current status at the school, taking a sharp turn into the kitchens and guessing - correctly, it turned out - that Madeline wouldn’t follow her, too unsure if she were allowed in the room.

The best _pindakass_ was hidden in the kitchens, thick and smooth and not too sweet. It wasn’t _worth_ putting out the good peanut butter since very few of them at the school ate it - and the ones who did, beside Wil, were either entitled to share her stash at the stables (Emma), or preferred the oversugared generic crap (Abigail).

Wil took her time slicing some bread and dolloping it with her _pindakass._ None of the witch staff or girls were on kitchen-duty that morning, but the regular cook certainly didn’t mind her presence, even fetching her the Dutch sprinkles she preferred that were kept - also hidden - at the back of the spices cupboard. There was no need to hurry out into the dining room; _noise_ seemed to have hit it in the familiar strident tones of Karla and her not-daughter’s foul-mouthed puffin, and Wil was in no hurry to meet them.

 _What_ Karla, the puffin, and likely Lilja were doing up at the dining hall for breakfast was anyone’s guess, since they nearly _always_ ate in their own home down by the lake with Karla’s long-suffering fiancée, Sonja - though, in truth, it didn’t take much guessing, since Karla had a tendency to put her foot in her mouth and through more precious and breakable objects, and Sonja was a terrifying person to encounter (never mind _annoy_ ) in the morning before she’d been diluted with enough black coffee.

The dining hall: home of the annoyed and the exiles.

When the arguing got a little quieter, Wil slipped into the dining hall and took a seat, taking some coffee, her bread and her sprinkles with her. Karla had settled upon the new girl like a large and overexcited dog that has just discovered someone new to throw them a ball - a great relief to _Wil,_ who was one of the Danish woman’s usual favourite victims.

Unfortunately, such peace was not to last for too long. Karla, Lilja and the puffin finally settled down on one table for breakfast, and the new girl, after getting some food for herself, gravitated over to Wil’s table with the sort of lost and hopeful expression on her face that looked like Emma on a bad day, when all Emma needed to hear was _one_ kind word about her family rather than the usual sort of comments Wil attracted for the both of them.

The likeness with her sister was too much for Wil to bear, so - _somehow -_ Madeline ended up sitting with her.

And there were _more_ questions.

The easily flustered new girl just got more flustered upon being teased, though Wil eased off when more people started arriving in the dining room for breakfast. She attracted enough attention by being in the dining hall at that hour of the day anyway, nevermind being seen sitting willingly beside someone else that wasn’t her sister.

Katya, who arrived in the dining hall with both her sisters in tow, looked like she was going to burst into tears of joy upon seeing Wil sitting with somebody else, completely missing the awkward way Wil was trying to hunch down into her scarf to dissuade her and only being stopped from approaching Wil’s table by Natalya’s hand wrapped firmly around her wrist, something being muttered about the food - just refilled by the cooks from the kitchen - getting cold.

Erzsi, the young metalsmithing witch student, trotted into the dining room and straight over to the food, but noticed Wil and Madeline when she went for cutlery and ended up getting so distracted, mouth hanging open and all, that her magic had a mini spike and three spoons stuck themselves to her hand. Naturally too busy attempting to get the spoons _off_ her hand so she could eat, she left Wil alone, taking her problem to Karla and turning red when the first thing the PE teacher did was laugh.

Elaine, coming in shortly after Erzsi, was more of a problem. Though the nurse didn’t count as _awake_ until she had a cup of tea in her hand, Elaine’s mind still took note of what she sleepily wandered past until it had the processing power to acknowledge it, and Wil didn’t manage to finish her food and coffee fast enough before the older woman had gravitated towards Wil’s table and blocked all the polite exits.

“This is a surprise.” Elaine’s accent lost its crispness when she was tired, both her hands wrapped around the mug pressed close to her breast like she was at _matins._ Her gaze was settled solely on Wil.

Madeline, who, with her back to the door, hadn’t noticed Elaine’s approach - or the looks of anyone else coming into the dining hall - jumped in her seat, choking around a mouthful of sausage.

“I need to eat,” Wil said more than a little defensively, answering the nurse’s silent question over Madeline’s head. “Same as anyone else.”

“Usually only necessity drives you away from your sister’s delicious breakfasts.” Elaine’s jaw cracked around a large yawn, one of her hands coming up a little too late to cover it. “Sorry. Did you need something or…?”

“I didn’t come here to see _you._ ” Face set in a frown, Wil drained the last of her coffee, setting the mug down with definite finality on her tray. “My kitchen was full of an idiot asphyxiating on an omelette.”

Judging by the look on her face, Madeline didn’t get it, but Elaine merely accepted Wil’s information with a nod. “Then may I borrow Madeline for a short while? We have some matters to discuss.”

 _We do?_ said Madeline’s face.

Wil pitied her. Minutely. “I was done anyway.”

Madeline managed a brief and feeble _it was nice to meet you_ as Wil left the table with her tray and Elaine immediately replaced her. Wil just gave her one last noncommittal nod as she passed by, going to put her things in the clean-up area.

Since she didn’t want to go back to the stables immediately - Gloria and Isabela were _notorious_ for running late and would would likely still be hanging about there -, Wil simply went straight from the dining room to the library. Hotaru locked the library doors overnight - to discourage people staying _up_ all night using its services - but rose early and opened them every day before she ate her own breakfast.

Nabbing a laptop and one of the larger, out of the way desks, Wil settled down to work. She had long since passed most of the lower level classes the school offered, so her ‘class’ time was now mostly devoted to private study and online lessons, with the once-a-week showing from a hired tutor per subject.

This term - and likely, the rest of the year - she was attempting to squint her way through the Mandarin language, cracking open the library laptop so she could get this week’s key characters and vocabulary and attempt to use them with their matching exercises.

A few - peaceful - hours later, it was time for gardening. March was one of the busiest months for a dedicated gardener, and, even with horticulturally-gifted witches on hand, the sheer size and complexity of the gardens in the grounds of the Lake School made maintaining them a constant effort.

Not that all the gardens _were_ Wil’s responsibility, but. If a job was worth doing, it was worth doing _well._ (Especially since it was known she did a large amount of gardening. If the job was done badly, it would reflect badly on her.)

Regrettably, one of the witches who was _most_ useful in the garden was also one of the witches at the school who pissed Wil off the most. _Isabela._ And since Isabela was also Wil’s tutor, _gardening time_ (a therapeutic hobby) frequently became _tutoring time_ \- or. What Isabela regarded as tutoring anyway, which Wil wasn’t entirely sure counted as anything but an exercise in learning to hold her temper.

They were busy in the kitchen gardens that day. With Isabela (and Wil)’s magic and the greenhouses on the grounds, they could _technically_ supply the school kitchens with all their garden produce all year round, but the one time the headmistress had broached the subject at a staff meeting, looking at making the school finances more efficient, Isabela had refused to allow her magic to be used for that purpose. Magic, she had said, was incredibly useful, and she would be _more_ than happy to _assist_ the earth in growing a little longer and a little better than normal, but too much overharvesting would sap the soil of its nutrients and just cause more work for those tending to it in the long run. Besides, there was natural magic in the earth, and, just like the witches who walked above it, it deserved a break every now and then.

...Hearing about it later, it was one of the few times Wil had caught herself wholeheartedly agreeing with her tutor.

Winter over, the kitchen gardens need preparing for their spring and early summer crops. In regard to the fact they need to be handling a great deal of extremely rotten compost that day, Isabela had decided to actually keep her shoes on whilst they worked outside - a great many earth witches didn’t, but it still annoyed Wil to see the supposedly more _mature_ woman beside her wiggling her toes in the sunshine as she tuned out whatever Wil had just said to her -, but the gardening apron she had donned that day was an obnoxiously bright shade of _yellow._ Its daisy-patterned print almost blinded Wil when she reached the kitchen gardens with her personal gardening kit in-hand, setting down the bag so she could swap her regular gloves for her equally-concealing gardening gloves, don her own apron and spare her eyes from the offensive luminosity for just a few precious seconds longer.

It didn’t feel like nearly long enough.

Since digging up essentially the whole kitchen garden wasn’t much fun, Isabela planned to use her earth magic to lift a layer that was a good seven centimetres deep across it all, dumping the earth in a pile until it needed to be put back again. They had to do weeding first, attacking stubborn dandelions and nettles with a trowel, and then, once Isabela had removed the top layer, take off their gloves and dig their hands into the cold exposed soil, warming it gently, carefully, with the gift for fire they both shared.

Isabela, with her magic embracing the dual natural gifts of both fire _and_ earth, was able to send gentle heat into the earth without flame.

Wil, although dual-gifted like her current mentor, did not have magic that was either as kind or as straightforward as Isabela’s. They both had fire magic in common, but without the earth magic to back it up (or perhaps, as Isabela kept irritatingly arguing, without Isabela’s years of _practicing_ that one technique) Wil had to first create a small fire, burning in mid-air in front of her, before she could magically redirect its heat into her patch of the garden.

Wil caught Isabela pursing her lips at the fire, but the Spanish woman - for once - decided to keep her mouth shut about it.

Laying down compost was a necessary - but extremely smelly - evil. Both Wil and Isabela re-donned their gloves to handle it - the stuff had been nicely rotting all winter, and it wasn’t something _anyone_ wanted stuck under their nails -, putting down a thick layer of the stuff before Isabela brought back the mound of soil she’d moved earlier.

They mixed the topsoil with the compost underlayer the mundane way, with trowels, beginning at the back of the garden and slowly, laboriously, making their way down to the front. It was hard work; since neither of them wished to sit down on the ground and possibly get compost on their clothes, both Wil and Isabela were working whilst crouched on their haunches, the strain beginning to tell in Wil’s thighs as she dug and mixed, dug and mixed, earth and compost, getting hot under the collar as the pre-midday sun decided to come out bright and warm overhead. When the sweat, gathered on Wil’s brow, began to drip off her forehead and land in dark stains on her gloves whilst she worked, it was time to take a break.

Toris was in the kitchens when Wil pushed open the door, the cook already prepping for lunch in the cafeteria, busy chopping a great many vegetables on his board. He looked up at the sound of the squeaking door hinges, something of the perpetually worried expression that always creased his face easing when he saw Wil. (Wil had very little idea what made the mundane man look so worried all the time. He was not _that_ much older than her and lived nearby, in Bellavue, so he could go home every day, but his fretting would make him old before his time.)

“Have you brought me something from the gardens?”

Wil shrugged, lifting her empty hands for show, her smelly gloves left outside in the sun for now and exchanged again for her everyday pair. “Maybe in a few weeks. Got anything we can drink ‘til then?”

Toris just tipped his head towards the large fridge at the side of the kitchens. “Strawberry _kissel_ in the jug, if you would like some? Or bottled lemonade in the cupboard.”

Wil went for the _kissel._ It would be a colder and sweeter drink than the lemonade - immediately proved when condensation beaded down the sides of the two glasses of pink liquid Wil poured even without ice floating around in the middle. With a brief _thanks_ to Toris, Wil carried both outside, Isabela looking up from the earth with a beaming smile and taking off her gloves so she could take the glass Wil offered her.

Isabela found a bit of the ground with no compost on it to sit cross-legged and enjoy her drink. Wil slouched indolently against the kitchen wall.

Tomorrow, they would both need to immediately get to sowing. They’d been too distracted earlier in the month with trimming the shrubbery and saving some freshly-planted marigolds from a slug infestation, and their work on the kitchen garden was behind schedule. Really, digging in the compost layer should have been done at least a week back - two weeks would have been even better -, so now the cool season crops they sow will have to be watched like a hawk. The carrots, turnips and kohlrabi are usually fine no matter what, but the beets, radishes, spinach and lettuces tend to be a great deal more temperamental.

If they have time after sowing, they can transplant the other crops (onions, potatoes, shallots, broccoli and cauliflower) into the garden as well, but those will have to take precedence after the sown crops have been protected by row covers. Row covers that are currently _missing,_ since it was Isabela’s job to put them away in one of the gardening sheds sometime last summer, and now they can’t be found.

After _that,_ it will be time to plant the tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers, transplant some of the herbs, and then go back to planting out the flowers around the rest of the school grounds. If they can’t find the row covers Isabela can handle her carnations by _herself_ this year; Wil will have enough to do making sure their vegetables don’t freeze and planting lilies somewhere on the school grounds where they won’t liberally dust anyone who walks past them with pollen.

“ _Wi~_ l,” said Isabela, lowering her half-drained glass from her mouth with a rather obnoxious smack of her lips, “you are scowling _very_ loudly.”

Wil, who did not think she was scowling, made sure to actually scowl at Isabela. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it does!” Isabela looked wounded. “The earth can _hear_ your scowly feelings. Do you not want the gardens to grow?”

“I am not,” said Wil, clear and slow, “thinking bad things about the _gardens._ ”

Isabela, who was used to similar comments from Wil, just sighed at her in an exasperated manner. Wil ignored it, and her tutor in general, determinedly lifting her glass to enjoy her drink whilst it was still cool.

There was silence for a few moments, nothing but the sounds of the breeze and the birds in the air, and Wil was almost fooled into believing that it might remain that way until the end of their short break.

Then Isabela spoke again. “Will you be abandoning us for lunch too?”

Wil lowered her drink again, refusing to straighten up from her slouch. “‘Abandoning.’”

“Abandoning!” Isabela set down her kissel in the grass and clutched her heart. Wil hoped ants got it (kissel _and_ heart). “Like you did this morning because you wanted to go sit with a cute girl. Am I not cute enough for you?”

“You’re not cute at _all._ ”

“How mean! And when I’m showing such support for your life decisions.”

 _“Support?_ ”

“Oh yes.” Isabela was nodding away to herself, dark hair bouncing against her cheeks, and Wil felt like baulking. “People have been asking if everything’s alright since this morning, and I told them that everything is _wonderful_ and you’re branching out a little. The greatest trees, after all, sometimes from the smallest seeds do grow -”

Damn the _trees._ Wil’s lip was well and truly curled; she _hated_ being talked about. “I went to go eat breakfast somewhere less annoying than usual. _Why_ is that schoolwide gossip?!”

“Well,” said Isabela, and she was using that tone she used when she felt like she was stating something _extremely obvious_ that made Wil want to throw a glass at her head, “it was with the _new girl_.”

_Madeline._

Wil tightened her grip on her glass, white-knuckled - Isabela wasn’t worth the effort of fetching another drink. “It wasn’t with the _new girl._ The new girl just happened to be there.”

Isabela just smiled at her indulgently: an absolutely ridiculous expression for a grown woman sitting in the dirt with an obnoxious yellow apron on. Wil jerked her gaze away from her in disgust, and sincerely hoped that that was the end of _that_ conversation.

Annoyingly, Isabela had never learnt to let sleeping dogs lie.

“So?” she prodded, when Wil didn’t say anything more. “So?”

“So _what?_ ”

“The new girl! Is she cute?”

“Go see her yourself if you care so much,” said Wil, and grouchily finished her drink. It wasn’t _her_ business to introduce the teenager to everybody else.

Isabela sighed at her again. “She _has_ to be cute if you went to eat breakfast with her.”

“I did _not-!”_ Wil caught herself. There was no point, was there? Isabela had gotten a story into her thick head, and painful experience had long since shown that nothing Wil could do or say was going to budge it.

There was no _point_ to arguing with an idiot, so Wil grit her teeth, set her glass aside to take back into the kitchen later, and went back to the compost.

Unfortunately, Isabela tended to take even fuming silence as a victory on her part, and laughed, sounding far too fond considering Wil wanted to slap her with a compost-covered glove in the _face._ “It’s good you’re making her feel welcome.” Wil staunchly ignored her. “You must save all your dark and scary vibes for me, right?”

More silence.

“... _Oh_ ,” said Isabela, with the voice of one who has finally been hit with a sudden surprising realisation, “are you mad at me?”

Wil kept digging, jaw clenched.

Isabela leant in to peer at her, close enough that Wil saw her stupid olive green eyes widen before common sense kicked in and Wil remembered to pull sharply away. Idiot! “You _are_! Is this because I called the new girl cute?”

...Isabela had the logic and interpersonal skills of _an eight year-old._ How? _How?!_ This was the same woman who, with her older sister, had helped start a _revolution_ in witch academia’s approach to the ‘natural magics’, influencing a whole new set of theories and personally introducing new techniques to the global witch community. Wil hadn’t believed it at first, not of either Fernandez sister, but Hotaru had shown her the published articles and subsequent discussions - and it couldn’t have been a naming coincidence, for surely no idiot Gloria and Isabela _but_ the Gloria and Isabela Wil knew would name their new magical techniques after, respectively, a wiggling codfish and _dancing tomatoes._

“ _Mina,”_ Isabela said reprovingly, as Wil quietly despaired at the gardens around them and the world in general. _What_ had she done to deserve this life? “...You shouldn’t be jealous; _I_ think your brooding look is _very_ cute.”

Enough was enough: the gardens needed to get done.

Wil turned her head, and glowered very directly into her idiot tutor’s smiling eyes. “If you’re just going to run your mouth instead of doing something useful, get lost.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

After breakfast, Madeline declined to call what she did _hiding,_ exactly, but she did disappear back to her bedroom in the dorms as fast as she could, closing - and locking - her door and trying to unpack some of her things as quietly as she could until the sound of _people_ stopped echoing so loudly through the building.

She had a lot to unpack - she had tried to bring a _life_ across the ocean, after all, prepared for anything -, so she mostly just started with the necessaries and anything that looked like it might be getting a little too creased in her luggage.

About half an hour in, with the building quiet, Madeline decided she wanted a drink, and unlocked her bedroom so she could tip-toe across the hall to the little kitchenette that belonged to the Winter group.

It was a small room - but pretty, with pale periwinkle blinds on the windows and powdery blue snowflakes stencilled in a scatter on the walls. There were eight cupboards, two drawers, a sink and draining board, and one tall fridge with a tiny ice compartment. There was an electric kettle on the counter, and a fire extinguisher in a bracket on the wall.

The drawers were filled with mismatched cutlery and even more mismatched dish-towels, and two of the cupboards (the ones under the sink) were filled with cleaning supplies. Feeling a little guilty, Madeline had a poke through the others cupboards to see if there was a glass or mug she could borrow.

Only four of them seemed to be in use. One of the two on the ground was filled with plastic bowls and cups and brightly-coloured snack food that spilled out onto the floor the moment Madeline opened the door, and she had to spend five minutes putting it all back in again. The cupboard next to it had a few glasses, but mostly plastic tubs filled with cookies and cake. One of the hanging cupboards had a lock on it, and the cupboard next to it looked a tetris art display of various different sizes of cookie tins - none of which Madeline dared touch, because she knew if she took one out, she’d never get it back in again. The other two cupboards looked like no-one was using them - but _did_ contain four plain mugs and glasses each, one of which Madeline took so she could get a drink from the tap.

Seeing a bottle of dish soap tucked at the back corner of the counter, Madeline quickly gave the glass a wash when she was done with it and replaced it in the cupboard. She remembered Miss Kirkland saying something about a chore rotation, but no one had properly explained that to her yet. The sink was completely empty and clean, so it would have been rude to leave her dirty glass for someone else to clean, even if it was just the one.

Thirst satisfied, Madeline wondered what she could do to pass the time. She didn’t have anywhere she needed to be until her meeting with the headmistress this afternoon and, before that, lunch. She thought about going back into her room and either reading or composing an email to her parents, but she wasn’t sure yet what she would even say. ‘Dear maman and papa, I’ve met lots of people and I think most of them might be crazy’...

She ended up taking a walk, exploring and trying to learn her way around the grounds without anyone to guide her. The weather was delightfully sunny, the breeze off the lake keeping it from getting uncomfortably warm. She passed a few people now and then, but mostly they exchanged smiles and nods and went on their way. Feeling refreshed and a little more steady, Madeline went back inside and took out the sheaf of papers Elaine had given her, going over her class schedule and the school’s code of conduct booklet again. It didn’t hurt to be too prepared, especially going to meet the headmistress.

(She tried not to dwell on that, but couldn’t help it. _Vampire’s lair_ , Marianne had said.)

By the time lunch rolled around, Madeline felt a little like she’d just gotten off a very gentle but very long roller coaster; slightly dizzy and light-headed, but still able to walk a straight line. She must have looked exceedingly dazed, because Feliciana waved at her as she entered the dining hall, but didn’t call out to her or protest when Madeline waved back and then went to sit by herself.

Unlike breakfast’s wide variety of serve-yourself dishes, lunch and dinner served a set menu of two or three choices between the two meals. There was usually a salad and a meat dish, and usually something more specialized; fancier or spicier, and often from one of the girls’ home cultures. There was a dry-erase board mounted on the wall outside the kitchen doors, and today it had informed Madeline in slightly smudgey blue letters that her choices were apple-almond salad, grilled tilapia with fried rice, and goulash with spaetzle. Madeline asked for the salad, and took it with her over to a quiet corner table.

It was a good salad, and to her relief Madeline found she had more appetite than she thought. She was halfway through the plate when someone came up to stand beside the table and she caught a whisper of over-loved, grass-stained sneakers protesting being scuffed against the floor.

“I’m really sorry about last night.”

It took Madeline a moment to remember what Abigail meant; running off without a word after Madeline had discovered her… not-quite-imaginary friend? How did one even respond to an apology for that? “Um…”

Abigail plopped into the seat across from her, and Madeline realized how uneasy she looked, staring down at the tabletop instead of looking at Madeline directly. She rubbed a finger over a scar in the table’s surface. “I’m not used to people reacting well to Al,” she said after a moment of awkward silence, addressing the comment to Madeline’s half-eaten salad. Madeline didn’t know what to say, but Abigail seemed to take the silence as a question. She hunched down in her seat a little, looking about as different from the Abigail who’d given her a tour yesterday as possible.

“When I was little, Alfred was my imaginary friend. I don’t have any sisters or brothers, so I made one up. I always thought I was just really good at pretending, until one day my grandfather saw him too. My grandmother died before I was born, but he’d lived with a witch for thirty years; he knew what magic looked like.”

“...Okay,” Madeline managed, a little stunned at Abigail sharing so much personal information so suddenly.

“Grandad was the best,” Abigail smiled, though it was a little watery. “But everyone else thought it was weird. The kids at school called Al a demon and wouldn’t talk to me or him.”

 _‘So he became your only real friend,’_ Madeline didn’t say. _‘Until you came here.’_ Madeline could relate. Maybe that was the real purpose of this school, or at least the best part; young witches able to make friends with other girls who really _understood_ how hard it could be.

Pushing the remains of her salad aside, Madeline reached across the table to take Abigail’s hand, ceasing its restless rubbing at the tabletop, and the other girl finally looked up.

“Um. I’d like to meet Alfred properly sometime, if that’s okay with you?”

Abigail’s smile was so big and bright that Madeline almost swore she heard it humming happily all on its own. “Really? _Really_ really, not just you being polite really?”

Madeline couldn’t help a slight laugh. “Yes, _really_ really! I had no idea your magic was so strong.”

“Oh, it’s…” Abigail’s smile faded, and she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not. Or, I guess it is, Lainey says it is, but she says Alfred uses up a lot of my spare magic, like a graphics-intense game eating up the RAM on a computer?” She paused, but saw that her metaphor had flown directly over Madeline’s head. “Basically I use up so much of my magic on Alfred that there’s not a lot to spare, so I don’t _seem_ very strong because I’m not about to give up Al.” There was a stubborn set to her jaw that made Madeline decide not to challenge that issue. Ever. “But I’ve been calling him ever since I was tiny, so I barely even have to think about it anymore.”

Lunch after that passed quietly - although with some trepidation. Elaine had caught Madeline at breakfast rather than at lunch to give her the time of her meeting with the headmistress, but the extra hours of waiting had only given Madeline’s stomach more time to tie itself into nervous, complicated knots.

Sometime before three o’clock, Madeline headed up to the reception building for her appointment. If possible, the chalet managed to look even more imposing going up to it on foot than it had done driving past it in the car, seeming to peer down at Madeline with a disapproving air as she approached.

Marianne had called it _the vampire’s lair -_ and Madeline was there to meet the vampire.

Inside, the chalet was welcoming: a little dimmer than the spring sunshine outside but not too cool. The walls were cream paint and wood beams, and the air smelled faintly of polish, flowers and sweet smoke.

A sign marked _Main Office/Bureau Principal_ pointed down a corridor to the left. There was a wall of framed photographs there, pictures of past staff and past students gazing out - fairly - neutrally at everyone who passed alongside them. Despite herself, Madeline found herself slowing down to look at them, her attention caught by the pictures of two _men_ in the top row. The small plaques below their pictures each said _Founder_ and their names: _A. Richter_ and _R. Vargas._ Both were flanked by women - two more founders on _A. Richter_ ’s left, _Y. Wang_ and _H. Karpusi_ , and a third on _R. Vargas’_ right, _I. Hassan_.

The rest of the pictures on the wall were women and girls. There was a row for teachers, past and present - Madeline had to pause again and squint at Marianne’s smiling portrait, its plaque marked with both _Teacher_ and _Former Student_ below it. Katya, Gloria and Isabela had the same, whilst Miss Kirkland had _Teacher_ and _School Nurse_ set below her slight frown.

Abby’s picture was on the wall, and Anya’s, and her sister’s ( _Student, Student, Student_ ), all the other girls Madeline had met as well. _Wil_ was there, younger than she had looked that morning when Madeline had run into her but still covered everywhere but her face _(Wilhemina de Vries_ said her plaque. _Student_ ).

The former student and/or teacher section of the wall was full of names and faces Madeline didn’t recognise. Girls wearing glasses, girls with sharp features and glaring eyes, girls with dark hair tied back in locks. There was a beautiful woman with a bindi on her forehead marked as a former teacher, something laughing in her eyes, whilst the tan, more severe-cheeked woman in the portrait beside her looked like she was calculating something with her almost golden gaze.

There was a girl there who looked so much like Feliciana that Madeline thought, for a moment, that someone had accidentally put Feliciana’s portrait up on the wall twice - but no. The colouring was different, the plaque below Feliciana’s doppelganger definitely said _Former Student,_ and the name above it was different.

_Luciana Vargas (née Romano)._

Feliciana and Chiara’s mother, maybe? Grandmother? Madeline tucked the thought away to consider later and went on to the only room on the far side of the pictures, knocking lightly on the already open door.

The headmistress’ office radiated two things at Madeline: _old_ (so old), and _expensive._ Dark, sleek wood and polished lines, the light in the room opening like a folding screen to draw the eye immediately to the desk at the centre of the office - and the woman sitting behind it.

Contrary to her environment, Yi Wang looked exactly the same as her photograph on the wall outside and far too young to be the headmistress of a school. Madeline wasn’t sure _how_ old Yi looked, exactly, but it was definitely younger than Madeline had been expecting. Even chalking the headmistress’ slight frame up to her obvious Asian heritage, Yi seemed remarkably girlish: her face and hands were pale and unwrinkled, and her hair, drawn back in a loose ponytail over her shoulder, was a pure silky black in colour. Plus she had a sparkly panda pin fixed to the high collar of her jacket, and it twinkled in the light when she looked up at Madeline at the door.

“Miss Williams,” said Yi, looking up from the laptop at her desk. Her accent was another strange thing around Madeline’s name, a mixture of places rather than anywhere in particular. “Come in.”

Madeline hurried into the office, taking the seat across the desk from Yi when the woman gestured to it with one hand. It was a soft seat, plush - and absolutely uncomfortable due to the polished _squareness_ of its 90-degree back and armrests. (Not a chair for relaxing in.)

“You have been settling in well? The rules and your schedule given to you?”

Madeline nodded, still a little tentative. “I’ve been learning my way around today. Everyone has been very kind and helpful.”

Yi nodded a lot more shortly, as though she had been expecting nothing less. It made her panda brooch twinkle in the light. “It has been explained who you go to if you have problems?”

“Yes, Miss Kirkland was very thorough.” And anything Madeline had forgot, she could just ask about again.

Yi tapped something on her laptop’s touchpad and then decisively closed it. “It is important you speak to someone as soon as possible if you have problems. Best way for us to fix them.” She gave Madeline a long, thoughtful look which made Madeline shuffle back further into her seat and hope she wasn’t slouching. (Madeline was quite certain, with a look like that, however old the headmistress was, Yi Wang had seen far too much shit.) “...To do so, you are troubling no-one. While you are part of this school, you are part of our family and our care. Families are not always harmonious, but they always wish what is best for you. Do you understand?”

Even if Madeline _hadn’t,_ she would have nodded anyway. Yi hadn’t looked away from Madeline’s face yet, and the full focus of her attention made Madeline want to slide down from the chair and hide under the fancy rug below her that was probably too expensive for Madeline to have even put her shoes on.

The headmistress clicked her tongue (and Madeline’s back straightened even further due to what was probably instinctual, primaeval terror). “Likely, we will not speak often, Miss Williams. Miss Kirkland keeps me updated on everyone’s welfare, and she is easiest if you find need to contact me. Have you any questions?”

Madeline shook her head rapidly.

Yi looked disapproving. The silence yawned.

“...No, Miss Wang?” Madeline tried. Slightly more weakly: “Thank you?”

Yi _hmm_ ed, and Madeline hoped she had been correct in assuming that it was her non-verbal response earlier that the woman had disapproved of rather than anything else less correctable about Madeline’s person. “...Then what is left is for me to formally welcome you to this school, Miss Madeline Williams. We hope you will gain control of your magic as you desire, and be happy here.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sooner or later, it seemed like everyone always gravitated to the crash room in the dorms. It was one of the few spaces where the girls could gather in groups - their bedrooms got a little crowded if they tried to fit more than about three people into them at a time -, and their live-in teachers frequently joined them there (despite all of Chiara’s complaining about Marianne and her barely-decent French nightwear forever taking up an entire couch to themselves in the evenings. Unless someone was willing to get a lot more up close and personal with said nightwear, which Chiara was _not_ ).

The crash room was also fully furnished with an assortment of couches, vaguely lumpy armchairs, two beanbag chairs (one overstuffed and bright blue, the other one squishier and light green) and a coffee table long enough for someone to nap/temporarily die on, if they were so inclined. The door to the dorm laundrette was off to one side, opposite the door to the teachers’ bedrooms, and there was also a proper kitchen table and chairs tucked into one corner, flanked by two writing desks in what was meant to be a study area closer at hand than the library (it rarely got used as such).

A fairly large television was mounted on the wall, with a shelf below it holding the ragged collection of public domain DVDs and Blu-Rays. (No one, not even the teachers, knew where they had originally come from, and the selection was mostly old black-and-white movies, along with an ancient edition of The Princess Bride and, for some reason, a bootleg copy of The Lion King with a terribly coloured cover.) There was a larger selection at the library that could be checked out, and each girl could and did have their own personal collections in their rooms that they brought out to share when inclined, of course. Chiara grudgingly admitted that Italian cinema wasn’t (that) world-renowned, but she was willing to share _anything_ out of her collection if it meant they didn’t have to watch the worst of Abigail’s Hollywood B-list crap on repeat.

Much more appreciated were Abigail’s Playstation4 and WiiU, which she sometimes hooked up for game nights.

If they felt like doing something a little more active and social than a movie, there was a shelf of boardgames below the DVDs, also communal but rather more useful. It had been added to over the years as students contributed their own particular favourites, and it now boasted a rather impressive mix of classic favourites and newer, more obscure games. The Uno cards had to be replaced so often that Marianne had taken to keeping a drawer of spare decks, and the Monopoly board was kept in Katya’s room and had to be asked for in an attempt to avoid bloodshed.

(When she had first explored the crash room, their newest quivering maple leaf, Madeline, had expressed surprise that there wasn’t a copy of Scrabble, completely missing the way Chiara had snorted evocatively at her from the corner where she had been grumpily labelling a diagram of the human respiratory system. Madeline, wonderingly speaking to the room at large, thought Scrabble would be _a fun vocabulary tool_ , God help her, especially for the students whose first language wasn’t English.

“We had one,” Anya had said, looking up from where she was reading on one of the couches. The battered hardcover book she was holding was about the size of a small stout brick, and looked suspiciously stained with something that seemed far too rust-coloured to be coffee on one corner. (Chiara wasn’t thinking about it. Chiara had long since stopped asking about Anya and suspicious stains.) “It was taken away.”

“ _Sonja_ ,” Abigail had said, in a tone that implied a great injustice had been done.

“Miss Eiriksen,” Anya had clarified, seeing Madeline’s confused expression. She hadn’t bothered to clarify further, _Chiara_ wasn’t going to deal with that can of worms unless she had some serious bribes, and Madeline had looked a little too scared to ask.)

So unless someone particularly wanted the quiet of their room, most of the girls tended to drift into the crash room, even if just to read or work on homework. Today the windows were open to let in the fresh breeze. Feliciana was sprawled on her back on one of the couches, mouthing her way through her English reading for the week, and Chiara was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. She had her maths textbook, notes, homework exercises and scratch paper spread out across the wide surface, irritably working her way through advanced geometry.

Chiara looked up at the sound of someone coming downstairs, glad for the distraction before she actually worked herself into a headache. It was Natalya who had appeared, a thick notebook tucked into the crook of one arm. She blinked at the twins, pausing, but didn’t immediately retreat, hovering as though she was trying to decide whether to stay when faced with both usually-loud Italians.

“Natalya!” Feliciana brightened, wiggling until she was halfway sitting up and letting her book fall unheeded to the couch beside her. “Come sit with- _ow_ !” She squealed as Chiara hit her expertly in the thigh with the pointed corner of one of her books. A frown flickered across Feliciana’s face as the dumbass realised she’d almost unthinkingly given a command, but then she was all smiles again, fast enough that Chiara thought that Natalya had probably missed it. (Then again, Natalya didn’t seem to miss _much_.) “Would you like to come sit with us?”

“...Alright,” Natalya relented after a too-long pause, and Chiara snorted.

“Don’t feel like you have to, I can be sour enough for both of us.”

Natalya blinked again, and her lips twitched in what was possibly a smile as she glided across the room toward the twins. She glanced around like a queen surveying her court, and pursed her lips before deigning to lower herself into one of the beanbag chairs, arranging her long skirts neatly around herself. Her dainty bare feet peeked out from under the edge, and Chiara was mildly surprised to see her toenails painted shell pink.

“I don’t know how you dress like that,” Natalya said, apparently interpreting something from the way Chiara was staring at her toes. Chiara jerked out of her trance, glanced down at her own outfit - shorts and an oversized sweatshirt for lounging around snarling at homework in, long bare legs only just starting to darken toward summer tan. (Another week or two, Chiara thought, and she’d start doing her homework outside, and by May she should be able to sunbathe properly, hopefully topless. Tanlines were for people who weren’t Vargas.)

She shrugged in response to Natalya’s comment. “To be honest, I don’t know how you go around in skirts and shit all the time. Isn’t it inconvenient?”

Natalya raised and lowered her shoulders in her own elegant shrug, smoothing a hand down over the soft fabric of her skirt. “It is comfortable. And it is what I am used to. Where I come from, the weather mostly isn’t nice enough to go around in less than full clothes.”

“You swim,” Feliciana pointed out, seizing on the continued delay of homework. She rolled over so her head was hanging off the edge of the couch, beaming at her sister and Natalya upside-down. “I’ve seen you, last summer!”

“It is nice,” Natalya admitted with another of those very faint maybe-smiles. “But not something I would get used to, I think.”

“Hey,” Chiara thought of something, glancing down at the frustrated scribblings of her maths homework. “Are you any good at geometry?”

Wordlessly, Natalya held up the notebook she was carrying, which turned out to be the very same homework Chiara was cursing her way through. “Perhaps we should… what do you say in English? Combine our resources?”

“Pool our resources, I think.” Chiara grinned, then grabbed her bag to find her phone. “I’m going to text Abby and Emma. They both passed this last year, I think, maybe they’ll take pity on us.”

“Ask them to bring snacks!” Feliciana chirped. Chiara felt the faint buzz of her sister’s magic glancing off her skin, but ignored it except to absently smack Feliciana on the shoulder to remind her to watch her words. Among other things, being a twin came with immunity to each others’ magic, which did come in handy.

“Ask them to bring snacks yourself, and do your damn reading so I don’t have to listen to you whining about it on the weekend.”

“But it’s so boring!”

“Life is boring.” Chiara smacked her sister again as she finally fished out her phone, and pretended not to see the wider smile Natalya was hiding behind one slender hand.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Madeline’s first magic class at the school was not what she had been expecting. In all due fairness, she hadn’t been sure _what_ she was expecting, but sitting in one of the practice rooms upstairs in the main building with Elaine and having a fairly normal conversation had not been it.

The nurse had brought a bag of random _things_ with her, and she had periodically either handed them to Madeline or held them on her own lap and asked Madeline to tell her as much as she could about the item’s history. Madeline had dutifully recited the stories of a plastic tomato-shaped clock, a chipped red mug, a tube of crimson lipstick (that she had nervously handed back to Elaine as soon as her fingertips touched it, as it _yelled_ at her that it belonged to Chiara and was one of the girl’s favourites), one darned sock (Madeline didn’t know whose it was, but it had been darned by Katya), a physics textbook (Abigail’s), and a delicate, golden bracelet that she couldn’t say much about other than it _probably_ belonged to Elaine and listening to it too intently, like many other things associated with the nurse, made Madeline’s head hurt.

After that, Madeline had to identify a mysterious something that was in Elaine’s pocket without being able to see it based on the feelings it was emanating alone - and managed, eventually, after being swamped by a heavy dose of emotions about _gold_ and _love_ and _forever_ to guess that Elaine had a ring in her pocket. An _engagement_ ring, specifically, although Madeline’s first guess had been a wedding one. To her frustration, she had _not_ been able to tell where its ‘matching partner’ was on the school grounds, although she had, to her own surprise, been able to identify who the ring belonged to ( _Karla._ Someone was patient enough and deaf enough to marry _Karla?_ ) _and_ register the vague _feeling_ of the second person the ring signified a bond with walking around on the ground floor of the main building. It was the only sweet _calmness_ associated with the ring, the emanations of a stranger whispering at the edges of Madeline’s consciousness like the sound of pages fluttering in a gentle winter wind. Maturity.

“Miss Karla is getting _married?_ ” Madeline gawked, because she a) couldn’t remember the loud teacher’s surname at that moment, and b) couldn’t exactly ask _who’d marry her?_ “To someone downstairs?”

“Another teacher,” Elaine confirmed, and then smiled like she knew _exactly_ what Madeline had been meaning to ask. “A braver woman than most of us.”

When they were finished with the lesson, Elaine led Madeline downstairs to her office for the medical that Madeline had been spared on her first day. Madeline, still a little intimidated by the nurse, was content to descend the stairs quietly, hand on the railing for balance as she listened to the distant murmuring in the building of classes in progress, but Elaine, a few steps ahead and below, spoke up.

“Will you be going into town this weekend?” The nurse looked back over her shoulder, her bag of borrowed things swinging idly from her elbow. “I can’t remember if the girls wanted to go to Yvoire or Bellavue this time, but they’re both worth a visit even if you don’t have shopping plans.”

“Oh, I…” Madeline had been busy unpacking, thinking about her upcoming classes, and tentatively trying to make friends with the other students. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, you should,” said Elaine as they reached the ground floor. “There’s a lovely little pâtisserie in Yvoire, not far off the water. They do beautiful little cakes, and decorate them with chocolate and spun sugar.”

Madeline bit her lip, considering. “It’s on Saturday, right?”

“This Saturday - and every other Saturday. Every _other_ other Saturday, we organise different events on the school grounds, so, if you want to go into town for whatever reason, you need to catch the organised trip twice a month.” Still walking, Elaine tipped her head as if she was doing some absent considering herself, reaching into the back pocket of her trousers with one hand. “Or beg a teacher who can drive with a really good excuse.”

That was… probably pretty useful to know. “...Can all the teachers drive?”

“I can’t,” Elaine said without concern, fishing out a key. “As with most things, the headmistress refuses to say if she can or cannot, and tends to use a chauffeur. Gloria can drive, but will get you lost on a straight road if you’re not paying attention, so I wouldn’t recommend her services. Katya tends to look like she’ll cry whenever she’s behind a wheel, but is a perfectly competent driver. As is everyone else.”

Elaine continued to talk about Yvoire and Bellavue as she led Madeline into her office and started the basic medical, describing the little towns and all the places the staff and students liked to visit when they spent their Saturdays there. It helped relax Madeline as the nurse measured her weight, height and resting heart rate, the topic shifting to the special summer and Christmas holiday visits to Geneva and spa towns around the lake when she took Madeline’s blood pressure.

And then, her measurements typed into her computer and Madeline settled at ease on the sofa in the office, Elaine changed the subject.

“Before we go on,” said Elaine, and turned her chair around to face Madeline directly in a way that reminded Madeline of nothing but Bond villains (sans cat), “I’d like you to know that nothing we talk about from here today will go any further than me. It won’t even go down in your files unless absolutely necessary for your health.”

This didn’t sound good.

“Madeline, I’d like to talk to you about sex.”

_Ah -_

Elaine Kirkland did not have a face that seemed to be good with either empathy or awkward situations (awkward _conversations_ being one of those). Her voice and will were, however, implacable - she spoke as someone accustomed to being listened to without question, steaming through her words despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm on her part, and the way Madeline had started to fidget. “You probably already know this, but one of the worst stereotypes about powerful or unusual witches is that we’re all raging nymphomaniacs. That isn’t true; witches are just as likely to want - or not want - sex as much as any other person. Your sexual and romantic desires have nothing to do with you being a witch.”

Madeline bit her lip. She had heard all the jokes about witches before. They were just as prolific as blonde jokes, and at least ten times more crude. Having witches for parents had taught her that the jokes were, for the most part, just cruel and and untrue, and they had understood those days when she had returned home in tears after mockery from mundane people.

Elaine hesitated, perhaps seeing the look on Madeline’s face as Madeline ducked her head as the bad memories floated back to the forefront of her mind. Madeline had to look back up at the nurse again before Elaine continued, meeting green eyes with her own and giving a firm nod.

“...It is true, however, that a lot of witches use sex as a way to regulate their energy - both physical and magical. A healthy body goes hand-in-hand with healthy magic and a healthy mind. And there is nothing wrong with sex being used like that, whether it is done alone, or safely with a consenting partner or partners. It’s rarely something a young witch needs supervision for, but it is encouraged in a lot of countries that a younger witch take sexual partners from amongst other witches. Whether that is their peers, or someone a little older.” Elaine paused again, her voice gentling slightly. “I don’t believe it’s the case in Canada, but you know that in some societies it’s common for witches who haven’t obtained their mastery to have only their magical mentor as their lover?”

“No,” squeaked Madeline, feeling her cheeks slowly fill with a dull heat. “In Canada, we don’t - _um._ Are you…?”

Elaine waited patiently.

 _“Um,_ ” Madeline squeaked again, even more helplessly.

“...The practice is only really common in certain corners of some Celtic, Nordic and African countries,” Elaine said carefully, and her fingers, previously spread flat on her desk, draw slowly up to her palm in a loose fist. “Places with strong matrilineal heritage. Since Christianisation in modernity, it is not a relationship… _preferred_ by the West, but few agencies would try to outright forbid similar relationships when they are used to regulate the magic of volatile young witches.”

There were juvenile detention centres designed especially for underage witches all over the world, Madeline knew. There were often protests outside them after high-profile cases in the USA and Canada, crowds outraged that young  witches were ‘put in soft prisons on soft charges’ rather than in _normal_ prison like mundane people. How a homicidal crime of passion was nearly always ruled as _manslaughter_ than _murder_ for an underage witch, and how some people called it preferential treatment.

Then again, some people thought that any witch who had magic other than something that was useful for cooking and cleaning things around the house should be taken away by the government. Or just shot.

Elaine hummed - more to herself, it seemed, than Madeline, as her gaze had moved somewhere beyond Madeline’s own and over her shoulder. “...Many of the people at this school have… arrangements with each other, born of either affection or desire, for when they need release, but just as many prefer to look after themselves or look somewhere else. It is entirely up to the individuals concerned.”

“Oh, that’s -” Madeline licked her lips to try and counter the sudden dryness of her mouth. Was this about…? Marianne had kissed Elaine the other day, quite openly in front of Madeline. “Good. I mean - that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Well, we’re hardly going to approve forcing anyone into anything,” Elaine said, and Madeline blushed more hotly when she saw the amused uptick of the other woman’s mouth. “I will be frank with you, Madeline. The age of consent in Germany in 14, in France it is 15, and in Switzerland 16. If you wish to be physically intimate with someone, we have no reason to stop you unless we believe it is non-consensual or affecting your health and/or safety somehow. It is my job to see that you are healthy and protected whilst you do… whatever you want to do or not do, and I will do it without judgement. I hope you understand?”

“I - I _do,_ ” Madeline said, aware she was twisting her fingers in her lap and trying to still them on her thighs before Elaine noticed, “but I don’t…”

“...'Don’t’?” Elaine queried carefully, after a few moments of silence. “You don’t understand?”

Madeline nodded. Frantically. She didn’t want a _detailed_ rehash of what had already been said. “I _do_ understand! But I don’t need to - about the other stuff, I haven’t. Um.” She gestured, a little lamely, between her ribs and the rest of the office. “There isn’t anyone.”

Slowly, Elaine nodded, idly rapping her knuckles on the desk as she though. “I understand. Is that something you wish to change, by choice, or something that just hasn’t happened yet?”

Madeline stared at her. And then, hopelessly, evocatively, she shrugged.

“...I’ll take that as ‘something that hasn’t been interesting or necessary enough for you to consider yet.’” Close enough. “...I’m afraid I do have some other questions. From your files, I know you’re not on any form of injection, implant or pills… Do you believe you may require any of those or something else for birth or other hormonal control?” Madeline shook her head. “I’ll give you some leaflets about the different types just in case you change your mind later. And some about sexually-transmitted diseases as well, though I assume that may have been covered in your health classes at your last school?”

With graphic pictures. Madeline nodded.

Elaine’s hand stilled - a warning sign. “My apologies, I’m afraid there’s no bracing for this question… Madeline, do you masturbate?”

Oh. Mon. _Dieu._

Perhaps Madeline’s expression was saying something of the shrieking horrified standstill that was currently the inside of her head, because Elaine winced at her with some sympathy. Usually Madeline would be more concerned about openly gawking at someone, but there were some things that were just too much to handle with dignity. “You can… well, perhaps if you just nod or shake your head for yes or no if I rephrase?” Her chin instinctively ducked towards her chest so hopefully her hair would hide her face, Madeline nodded. “Do you know how to make yourself orgasm?” Another nod. “And you’ve done it before?” And again. “No problems in that department?”

Madeline lifted her head just enough from her collarbone to give Elaine a hunted, despairing look beneath her fringe, and jerkily shook her head.

“Some people enjoy… or prefer… _toys._ To assist with their pleasure and experimentation. Especially for the younger witches, I provide some of the basic ones, and provide the literature to go along with them. Would something of that nature interest you?”

Tomato-red, Madeline just stared at her.

“...Perhaps it would be best just to give you the full pack, and you can decide for yourself.”

The ‘full pack’ turned out to be a large and horribly indiscreet paper bag packed with one curved red synthetic dildo, a small, sleek black bullet vibrator, two boxes of condoms (one ribbed) which would expire long after Madeline did, a box of dental dams, two seriously-sized bottles of lube (one warming), a packet of batteries, a slew of instructional leaflets all about sexual health and related issues, and one card from Elaine which advised Madeline to come talk to her in complete confidentiality at any time should anything change in her sexual life and linked Madeline to a webpage run by the nurse that contained helpful advice and information for young witches and their sexual health and needs.

As soon as Elaine released her from the nurse’s office (now dubbed firmly _the mental torture chamber_ in her mind) Madeline took the bag back to her room as quickly as possible, immediately shoved it as far back under her desk and out of sight as she could get it, and then went over to her bed so she could screech - quietly - into her pillow.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Emma de Vries liked to think that - generally - she led a fairly normal life despite unusual circumstances. Her powers weren’t nearly as impressive as most of the other girls’, barring occasional flare-ups - she had old magic, magic of hearth and home that manifested mostly through her cooking. (Soups that calmed and warmed, candies that gave strength, cookies that could - sometimes - induce visions, and now she was learning to make healing salves and tonics too.) Powers like that had been showing up in witch bloodlines for _eons_ , and the methods of teaching such were well-documented and hardly noteworthy. Really, there should have been no need for her to come to the school at all; her aunt was a kitchen-witch with powers very similar to hers. She had already begun teaching Emma at home, and the worst accident she’d ever had was easily detectable by the large puff of smoke and the fact that the cream soup she’d been making had turned alarmingly putrid purple.

But that had been before the accident with Wil and Maas, when everything had changed forever. Suddenly Emma - twelve years old, bright and cheerful and childish - had been confronted with the fact that bad things happened. Bad things could happen to _anyone_ , even her big sister and little brother. Emma hadn’t been home when the accident happened, but she remembered the days of chaos and confusion after, being sent to stay with her grandparents and being so frustrated that no one would tell her what was happening. The next time she saw her parents, they looked drawn and worried and tired, and they told her that Wil would be moving away, to a special school for witches.

“Me too,” Emma insisted, and stamped her foot when her parents looked surprised. “I’m a witch, so _I’m going too_.” It hadn’t been jealousy, it hadn’t been ‘why does my sister get a special school, I want to go too’. It was because, in the aftermath of all that chaos, all Emma wanted was to curl up and hug her big sister. She didn’t want to be by herself, and she didn’t want Wil to be by herself either. In hindsight, her parents had probably agreed at least partially because with Emma out of the house it gave them more time and energy to focus on Maas and his recovery. But Emma was still grateful, because Wil needed her then, needed family by her side, and still needed her now.

The accident had changed Wil, in ways that had scared twelve-year-old Emma and that seventeen-year-old Emma was still trying to fully grasp. Her sister was still her sister, but her natural solemness had turned to defensive gruffness, sternness to scowls, and Emma was thankful daily that she’d made the decision to come along. Wil liked to have everyone think she was strong and immovable, but Emma saw her shaking hands when no one else did.

She was still waiting on that hug, but that was okay. Once she’d settled in, branched out, Emma _loved_ the school. She loved the rustic kitchens and the bright classrooms, and she loved the other girls. Emma had no illusions, she knew that because her powers were under more firm control, she had the peace to be steady when all the other girls occasionally shook apart. She didn’t mind being a shoulder to cry on for Feliciana or Abigail or a listening ear for Luise or Chiara. She genuinely liked taking care of people, be it through her food or through her actions.

That was why, when she heard about the new girl, Emma went out of her way to introduce herself during the first class they had together.

It turned out to be French, semi-advanced-but-not-fluent; Emma trying to squash her Flemish accent, Luise trying to wrap herself around the familiar-but-not grammar structure, Madeline speaking Quebecois instead, and all of them taught by one of the outside, non-witch teachers because Marianne had thrown up her hands and said they hurt her ears.

(Emma had politely, sweetly pointed out that she could go sit in with the not-beginner-but-not-very-good class instead, which contained Abigail, Feliciana, Chiara and Anya. Marianne never really looked _ruffled_ but she insisted she had too much paperwork to do far too quickly.)

“Bonjour,” Emma plopped down into the seat beside Madeline, setting her bag on her lap and flipping the catch open so she could pull out her books and her pencil bag. She offered Madeline a smile. “I’ve seen you around but I don’t think we’ve actually met. I’m Emma.”

“I’m Madeline, it’s nice to meet you.” Madeline hesitated, straightening her own pile of workbooks so the edges of the spines aligned, something to do with her hands instead of restlessly twisting them in her lap. Emma caught the gesture out of the corner of her eye and saw it for what it was, but didn’t see a reason to comment. Of course the poor girl was nervous, she’d been here less than a week and was still meeting new people every day. “You’re Wil’s sister, aren’t you?

It wasn’t precisely a question, but Emma nodded a confirmation anyway. “That’s me. How’d you know?” (Emma had heard all the gossip about Madeline eating breakfast with Wil that first morning, of course. Or rather, she’d been in the kitchen of the stables making soup stock that afternoon while Isabela fluttered around behind her being Melodramatic and Anguished about it. But Emma knew her sister well enough to know that the meal had been mostly silent, and it wasn’t as though Wil would have been talking about her baby sister to a stranger. Then again, Madeline had been here for long enough she could have easily heard the connection mentioned by someone else.)

“You didn’t offer to shake my hand.”

Emma turned to stare at her in surprise, and Madeline smiled shyly. “Wil doesn’t, so it makes sense her sister wouldn’t. Though I guess shaking hands is a very North American greeting anyway, isn’t it?”

“It’s becoming more common in Europe, especially in professional circles,” Luise piped up from the next table over, giving Emma a moment to collect herself. “But not so much in this type of setting, no.”

“Oh,” Madeline frowned slightly, clearly making a mental note. “What would be more appropriate? A kiss?”

She seemed very hesitant on that point, cheeks going adorably pink, and Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Not if you don’t want to, and _that’s_ mostly a Southern European thing anyway.” Madeline’s expression went a little funny, her cheeks going red instead of pink, and Emma laughed harder. “Well, mostly. Let me guess, Anya?”

Madeline nodded, then gave up and dropped her head into her arms, folded on the tabletop. “And Feliciana,” she mumbled into her sleeve. “Every time she sees me.”

Emma chanced giving her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, relieved when she didn’t recoil. (Emma found herself so much more conscious of touch these days, touch and space.) “Well, Wil and I are from the Netherlands, so _I_ don’t mind handshakes at all, or a hug if you like, but you don’t have to.”

Madeline peeked up enough to give her a grateful look. “You’re very nice, Miss Emma.”

Emma blinked, then laughed and wrinkled her nose simultaneously, waving a hand between them as though she was fanning away smoke. “Oh no, none of that. There’s, what, a year between us? _Please_ just call me Emma, or Em. And you only think I’m nice because you’re unconsciously comparing me to Wil, who self-describes as a cactus.”

“I-” Madeline shook her head vigorously, a blush staining her cheeks. “I wouldn’t. I mean…” She paused, took a calming breath. “Your pencil case says you’re very nice; you always take care to wash it when it gets dirty, and you put it at the top of your bag instead of the bottom where it would be squished by heavy books, and you never stuff it too full or force the zipper when it gets stuck.”

Emma stared at her, then the pencil bag sitting innocently on her desk, then back to Madeline again. She blinked, and saw that Madeline was biting her lip, shoulders very slightly hunched like she was bracing for startled shrieking. Luise caught her eye over Madeline’s shoulder, and Emma smiled. “Maddie, my pencil case is also printed with cartoon cats and mice.”

Madeline’s posture relaxed all at once, startled and relieved and probably not even aware of it - then again, it might not be so obvious to someone who wasn’t as used to reading body language as Emma was. “Um. Yes, I guess that’s a clue too.” She smiled a little weakly, and Emma reached over to give her shoulder another squeeze.

“My bag really told you all those things Maddie? That’s pretty cool.” Emma was delighted when Madeline turned the most adorable shade of pink she’d ever seen on a living creature. “Is that how your magic manifests?” It was usually considered rude to outright ask a witch about her powers unless she herself volunteered the information, but Madeline had invited the question and ( _perhaps_ ) a bit of bluntness ran in the family. Emma had always found it hard to squash her curiosity, she was just usually more polite about it than Abigail or Feliciana.

Madeline nodded, a little hesitantly. “I… hear things. Or not-things. Things talk to me, tell me where they’ve been, who’s held them, things like that.” She glanced around, brow furrowing for a moment as she cast about for a good example that wouldn’t give her a headache. “Like your bracelet, Luise, it was- um- a gift. From your grandfather?”

Luise nodded, looking a bit surprised as she ran her thumb over the plain golden band, the clasp and hinge hidden under intricate geometric designs, simple and elegant. (“Just like you,” her grandfather had smiled, ruffling a hand over her hair and making her flail despite his care not to dislodge her headphones. “Take care of your sister, and let this remind you I’m always here for you both.”) “Yes. He gave it to me as a going-away present when I came here.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma was impressed, and Madeline turned even pinker.

“It’s not,” she tried to insist. “There’s magic that’s more impressive than mine.” She sighed. “And more useful. And less troublesome.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “It seems really useful to me! If you found lost things, you could return them to their owners easily.”

“It doesn’t have to be impressive to be good,” Luise chimed in, still rubbing her thumb gently over her bracelet. “Miss Katya’s magic isn’t impressive, but it’s versatile and very useful.”

“And sometimes if it _is_ impressive, that just makes it harder to use and control.” Emma and Luise shared a long look then, something a little solemn and sober and Madeline blinked, wondering what she was missing.

“Um?”

Both of them looked back at her, and Emma sighed a little. “Earthquakes,” she said, and Madeline’s eyes widened a bit. “Or fire. Or… other things like that. If you can do big, ‘impressive’ things, it usually means you can hurt a lot of things too. I’d rather keep my small magics.”

“Me too,” Madeline said with a shiver, and Luise nodded. “Are there really witches that can make _earthquakes_?”

“Yes,” Emma said after a slight hesitation, toying with the hem of her blouse a bit. “There’s witches that can do almost anything, if you look hard enough. And…” She and Luise traded another look, and Emma bit her lip, meeting Madeline’s eyes. “Okay, don’t be worried if you notice ground tremors while you’re here. Did the one we had night before last manage not to wake you? There’s a witch here that causes earthquakes, but she’s working really hard to learn to control them and the teachers all know what to do so-” She fidgeted a bit, seeing Madeline’s wide-eyed expression. “I can’t tell you _who_ , but-”

“No, that’s okay,” Madeline said after a moment of stunned silence. She gave a little, wane smile at Emma’s relieved expression. “I understand, it’s a privacy thing. I wouldn’t want people to gossip about my powers either. But thank you for the warning. I guess I still have a lot to learn about what magic can do.”

“Almost anything,” Emma repeated, grateful to be moving back to a safer topic. “Healing is really common, so is kitchen-magic like mine, or elemental stuff like what Gloria and Isabela do. But since this school was set up to help struggling witches specifically, most of the witches here have really rare or difficult powers.”

Luise nodded, ticking things off on her fingers like she was reading a shopping list. “Weather manipulation, illusions and mirages, luck manipulation, auditory coercion, self-reinforcement, true empathy, _two_ different varieties of wordsmith-” She stopped when she saw that Madeline’s eyes were glazing over from the rush of technical terms.

“...Wordsmith?” Madeline asked after a moment, seizing onto the unfamiliar term and trying to puzzle out its meaning.

“Miss Kirkland,” Luise said after a moment’s hesitation and a shrug from Emma. “And Miss Eiriksen. I’m not sure of the specifics, but it has to do with using words to manipulate things, through magic.”

Madeline blinked. “...So if one of them said the sky was green…?”

“I don’t think _anyone_ has that much power,” Emma said, then paused thoughtfully. “Though they could probably make you _believe_ you were seeing a green sky.”

“ _Oh_.” Madeline gulped, fairly glad that the teacher entered the room just then, all smiles and apologies for being late. She put the topic of magic to the back of her mind and turned her attention to trying to unlearn a lifetime of French-Canadian slang.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Staff meetings were first thing on Tuesdays, after an early breakfast. There had been the argument made once, twice, a few misbegotten times, that the staff meeting should be held at the very end, middle, or beginning of the week, but it had been shot down every time. Nobody had the willpower left for serious topics by the time Friday evening rolled around, minds shutting down for the weekend and stomachs rumbling hungrily for dinner. Wednesdays? Either in a long lunch hour or at the end of the day, Wednesday was the day when most of the staff were caught right in the _middle_ of their irritation for the world, and though their minds were sharp on the issues, their tongues were frequently sharper. Attempts at meeting on Wednesday had always ended in stormy arguments, bitter in-fighting between the staff - not all of it verbal -, and once, notably, a stapler thrown at Marianne’s head.

Monday mornings, before the week’s classes began, had been the final suggestion - and hated most of all, everyone’s minds reluctant to be pried away from the weekend and hauled into the working week. Added to that, the preparation most of them had to do for the staff meeting meant that most of them had had to _work_ on Sunday, a day of rest, and that had been considered, unanimously, an abomination.

As it now was, the only one of them to _truly_ suffer in preparation for the weekly staff meeting was Elaine. It was why they all bit their tongues (or only murmured complaints so _very quietly_ ) when she was a _beast_ on Mondays, a snarling creature with slivered knives for eyes and teeth and limbs as she clawed her way out from inside the skin of Sunday’s sated, slumberous thing (sweets and shorts and soft, oversized cardigans that covered her wrists and fingers and knees). Deadly with a pencil, biro and fountain pen, and mildly injurious with a very solid rubber thrown with critical aim at one’s head. Somewhere along the long way, the role of school nurse seemed to have morphed to include a sizeable portion of the duties of school _secretary -_ or so Elaine complained, a dozen emails in Marianne’s inbox asking her to submit her paperwork _on bloody time for once,_ regular as the curt full stops in English correspondence. Marianne set her watch by them.

Five cups of strong tea, brewed to taste through the haze of sleep-deprivation, had hardly made Elaine more tolerable today. Marianne had put a bowl of porridge down in front of the other woman after the third cup - thick and sweetened with milk and golden syrup -, put a spoon in Elaine’s hands and said _eat_ because even _she_ had a moral code of conduct and it had felt cruel to try and cram big words into a small head that was already overfilled with _headache_.

Elaine might still have her headache, the skin under her eyes thin and bruised, but at least there was now some food in her belly to give energy to her blood. She could wreak useful hell - an annoyance Marianne could bear with since it detracted from work she herself had to do -; the cut of her waistcoat, pressed trousers, collar buttoned high, as severe as her frown. (Elaine of Mondays and Tuesdays did not have softness to spare, either in attitude or in the curves others had to gentle the bare bluntness of their bones.)

Tired herself, Marianne had gone for sulky, tousled elegance that morning, very ‘hair loose, long-sleeved shirt slipping off one shoulder’. Politely covering a yawn with long fingers. The natural look, but - unlike Karla sitting near her, the PE teacher not awake enough yet to be terrifyingly energetic - without pastry crumbs decorating her sleeves.

Sonja, hauled out of the lake-house with her partner, had been folded into Karla’s side, the silvered braid over her shoulder still frayed from sleep and the papers on the coffee table in front of her piled up in a haphazard tower. Since she looked like she had only evolved two or _less_ cups of coffee away from murder, Marianne did not peer at her long.

Eternally prompt (she combusted into apologies if she was anything otherwise), Hotaru had beaten Marianne to both the dining room and the staff room that morning - and paid the price for it, a little green around the gills in the way she got when the breakfast food on offer disagreed with her. Too much richness - and/or lactose - hit Hotaru’s Japanese stomach hard on occasion, and the poor darling would be quieter than usual for a few hours, unless pushed, until her digestive system sorted itself out again.

Missing breakfast in the dining room entirely, Gloria and Isabela had gotten to the meeting by the skin of their teeth - Isabela, with one of Emma’s waffles crammed into her mouth and with curls and sleep still hanging in her eyes, and Gloria, who had had the foresight to bring a mug of coffee with her (or simply forget to put it down going out of her apartment’s door) but had not had time for a smoke. Her mouth was thinned with the stress of it and her fingers turned the ever-present beads around her wrist over and over, sliding the rope of the bracelet down into the cup of her palm. (Gloria had worn a rosary there once, as a teenager, only two loops because she had always had strong wrists. A Confirmation gift, very expensive, delicate: gold links and crucifix, pink and white cultured pearls. It had tinkled as she turned it, prayer instead of a nicotine addiction, and two of the links had snapped off the medallion, the loop of the rosary separating entirely from its pendant. Marianne had found it embedded in the mud of her lawn; Gloria’s kiss had been warm and grateful when she’d returned it.)

Since Yi was, once more, off school grounds on business, the last of their little number was Katya: the youngest, newest teacher, still uneasy being included in the circle when only the year before she had been a student herself. (It showed.) She was the only one among them who could really be called a ‘morning person’, and as such was sitting fully dressed and bright-eyed, hair held neatly out of her face with a satin headband and fidgeting nervously with her folder of papers, waiting for one of the less awake teachers to spontaneously combust.

Whilst Elaine was busy rubbing her eyes, Marianne stole her paper with their agenda on it to open the meeting. Elaine squinted at Marianne dangerously between the backs of her fingers when she heard Marianne speak - but accepted the interference after half a minute of Marianne batting her eyelashes at her and sighing pointedly, turning her head to look at Hotaru on her other side as the Japanese woman dug in her bag for her notebook to take the meeting’s notes. The quicker the meeting was concluded, the quicker they could all find another caffeinated drink of choice.

No major disasters having occurred in the school that week, the agenda was relatively brief. Marianne and Karla had both submitted their fuel bills for perusal; Toris had submitted the bill for that week’s groceries, and Elaine subsequently brought up the school’s current finances, along with mentioning that Yi had signed off on an increase in budget both Isabela and Hotaru had requested for magical lessons in their meeting the previous week. Hotaru submitted a list of the five new books that had been added to the library. Isabela talked about her gardening plans and how they were coming along, and Sonja brought it to their attention that the boat-house roof had sprung a mild leak and needed examining before repairs. Gloria and Karla wanted to do a gameshow-styled quiz on the next Saturday they ran a weekend activity instead of going to town.  

According to their own notes and the notes submitted by the hire-in mundane teachers, the academic progress of the students at the school was on track for their exams. The only real magical mishaps to have occurred had been Natalya having a _disagreement_ with an inquisitive spirit - again -, and Lilja accidentally singeing her maths book.

And then of course - and perhaps, most importantly - there was the topic of their newest student at the school, Madeline Williams.

“Madeline is what we call a _psychometric empath_ ,” said Elaine, still sounding rather tired, “manifesting as the ability to ‘hear’ the voices of primarily - but not restricted to - inanimate objects. These voices communicate to her their thoughts, memories and emotions. Madeline can hear some items at, so far as I can tell currently, distances roughly approximate to the length - and depth - of this building. She can hear items with stronger emotions attached to them most easily, and does not always need to be touching an item to hear it, though contact improves the clarity of her gifts. Her current problems largely amount to her being unable to choose when her powers are active, and controlling her range. Taking into account all of this,” she gestured to Marianne with a loose wrist, “I am recommending Marianne be her personal tutor.”

Marianne made a vaguely inquiring noise, and Elaine’s gaze followed the line of her own hand in looking over at her to explain:

“I believe work similar to what you do with Luise in learning how to limit, extend and focus one’s gifts may be the most beneficial for her.”

Marianne shrugged amicably (and then had to pull up the collar of her shirt as the move made it gave up on _beguiling_ and went for _exhibitionist_ somewhere around her elbow); Madeline seemed a charming girl and they should have no problems getting along. “I have no disagreements.”

“If Madeline feels uncomfortable with this decision,” Elaine said, “my secondary recommendation is Sonja, and, thirdly, myself. Are there any comments on this?”

“Secondary and third recommendations are organised based upon your busy schedule?” Sonja asked. (She looked more awake now, the boredom of the meeting meaning it was now _Karla_ slumped with her nose against Sonja’s hair.) Elaine nodded. “No complaints. I agree with your assessments.”

Elaine paused long enough for Hotaru to scribble all of that down in her notebook before speaking again. “I will keep you all updated on Madeline’s decision. Please be noted that, due to the nature of her gift, Madeline can be easily susceptible to headaches and migraines, and she occasionally suffers from sensory overload. I’ll be sending you all an email for the best way to handle these, so please remember to check your inboxes.” She glanced at all of them. “Are there any more comments on this?”

Gloria raised her hand. “How is Madeline settling in? She has seemed… determined every time I have seen her, but a bit…” her fingers twirled in the air for a moment, searching for a word, “nervous?”

“She has a somewhat nervous personality,” Elaine replied, which Marianne thought was something of an understatement considering the skittish fawn impression Madeline had been doing in Geneva, “but that seems to relax a great deal when she is around the other girls - in particular, Abigail, Luise and Feliciana, that I have seen.” A good mix - Marianne approved. Abigail and Feliciana would both be a bright and outgoing balance to any of Madeline’s reticence, whilst Luise was solidly dependable, offering a calm sensibleness that would be of comfort to the easily frazzled. “The others seem to like her as well, or, at the very least, feel ambivalent towards her.”

Gloria seemed amused by Elaine’s phrasing, her lips quirked. “Is that ambivalent by _your_ standards, or -?”

“Natalya’s,” said the nurse, which sounded like a story Marianne would have to pry out of her _dear_ cranky neighbour in the dorms later. “Madeline is still adjusting to life here. But well, I think.”

Still idly holding up the collar of her shirt, Marianne waited a suitable length of time for anyone to add another comment if they had one, pining in the seconds for the cup of coffee and buttery croissant her stomach was begging for. When no-one said anything, she carried on: “Now, moving onto the next item of discussion…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was almost two weeks before Madeline finally met the youngest of the school’s resident students, which was slightly ridiculous when she found out that one of them occupied the room _right next to hers_ , which Madeline had assumed was vacant. There were fewer younger girls, so both of them ended up taking mostly private lessons even for the more mundane subjects, and accommodating their teachers’ schedules meant they tended to be in lessons while the older girls had free time. Erzsébet (“Erzsi’s fine! Or Eliza, if you want, I don’t mind either.”) was thirteen and carried an affinity for metal, particularly iron. Elrica was even younger at just eleven, and Madeline hadn’t actually technically _met_ her, only seen her curled in a corner of the library, brow furrowed over a book of sheet music. (Silly because she was the one who lived beside Madeline.) It was Isabela who told her, blithely, that Elrica was a weather-witch, and her magic was still very unpredictable and emotionally based, so it was best not to startle or upset her. It was _Gloria_ who told her that meant occasional indoor rainstorms. A third, Kelsey, was between the two in age: a bright-eyed Australian girl who had strange tan-lines and scraped knees and elbows every time Madeline saw her - usually as Kelsey was running past her in a thunder of feet. It wasn’t until the _fourth_ time Madeline ‘met’ the girl Kelsey managed to stop long enough to introduce herself and explain the running. Mostly, Kelsey just tended to be _late_ for everything. The rest of the time she was either trying to catch or escape some kind of bird or animal - she had beastspeech as her magical gift, though her grasp on it was terrible.

(“I can talk to animals,” she’d cheerfully explained to Madeline when Madeline had asked why she’d travelled so far - like Madeline - to come to school. Advanced beastspeech was an _uncommon_ magic, but not very rare. “So they come running up to talk to me.”

Madeline hadn’t gotten it at first. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m from Australia.”

“... _Oh._ ”)

And Madeline, forgetting that there had been _two_ troublemakers lamented on her first day, thought she’d met everyone. Thought that right up until the weekend, when she and Abigail gathered their books and staked a claim on one of the sunnier library study nooks. (Madeline had her French lit book, a notebook, three pencils and a lot of trepidation. Abigail had a stack of comic books and a blasé attitude toward procrastination.) It was warm and bright and drowsy in the mid-afternoon, and not a lot of studying was getting done. Madeline had her chin propped on one hand, twirling her pencil with the other and idly watching a trio of sparrows hopping around outside when a sudden streak of white flashed by the window.

She sat up, startled, and leaned forward to look out the window. The streak turned out to be a girl, middling height and seemingly made all of angles; thin arms and sharp shoulders and knobby knees, her white hair kitted up into a tight braid that whipped around her as she moved. Karla, the towering Dane who taught all things sport and outdoors-y, was right behind her, grinning and hopping over the sweeping kick that the pale girl aimed at her ankles. They traded blows for a moment, and then the pale girl leapt away again. Madeline found herself a bit breathless, because Karla might be grinning but the girl looked _fiercely_ upset, brows drawn down and sharp chin set in a determined snarl. She seemed tight and coiled, like the time Madeline’s papa hadn’t been paying attention and overwound his pocket watch until something tiny and metallic deep inside had given way with a ‘sprong’ of released tension. Madeline was glad she wasn’t close enough to hear anything this girl’s clothes or possessions might be saying. “Who’s that?”

Abigail barely glanced up. “That’s Avis,” she paused, turning a page in her comic. “She bites.”

“She _bites_?!”

Abigail nodded, unconcerned, apparently, with fully grown teenagers who _bit_. “Ask Chiara, she’s got teeth-marks.”

Madeline sighed; she still hadn’t had much luck in befriending the standoffish Italian. There had to be some truth to the old wives’ tale that twins were either identical or night-and-day, because Feliciana was cheerful and friendly and enthusiastic about all the things her sister decidedly _wasn’t_ . “Okay. _Why_ does she bite?”

That made Abigail pause, and her eyes flicked over toward the window, just briefly. Madeline’s own gaze followed, watched the way Avis and Karla sparred. There was definitely some sort of martial arts going on there, not just random flailing of limbs, but Madeline didn’t know enough to guess what the style might be. There was something _wild_ about Avis, untamed defiance at the world spun down into the shape of a girl, tighter and tighter until her hair went white and her bones stretched thin-

Madeline swallowed, glad to be broken out of that train of thought when Abigail spoke again. “I dunno. You’d have to ask Luise about that.”

“Luise?” Madeline thought back, trying to remember if the German girl had mentioned anything about this mysterious Avis. “They’re friends?”

“They’re sisters.”

“What?” Madeline leaned forward as though that would afford her a better view of Avis. She couldn’t help the disbelief that crept into her voice. Avis was pale where Luise was golden, sharp where Luise was soft. Luise was taller, stockier, more well-balanced while Avis looked like she was all leg. Madeline didn’t have any siblings of her own, but… Chiara and Feliciana weren’t identical twins, but you could still tell with half a glance that they were _twins_. And no one would ever suggest that Anya and Katya and Natalya weren’t all sisters. Even Emma and Wil, though they looked different at first glance, were at least _similar_ when seen side by side, the shape of their jaws and the elegant similarity in their postures. But Avis and Luise? They must _really_ take after opposite sides of the family. “I never would have guessed.”

“Me neither, until you see them together.” Abigail was frowning out the window, just a little, unknowingly echoing Madeline’s thoughts. “Luise is the only one Avis is nice to. Luise is practically the only one Avis ever _talks_ to. It was even worse when we first arrived.” She caught Madeline’s questioning look and explained- “Avis and Luise and the Vargas twins and I all started here at the same time, beginning of last year. At the beginning Avis was always yelling and throwing things and punching anyone who wasn’t Luise. Then Karla started punching back,” Abigail waved a hand out the window to encompass the sparring. “And now Avis mostly just sulks or shuts herself in her room. I guess that’s progress?”

“Maybe…” Madeline frowned, wondering what had happened to Avis to make her like that. It couldn’t be anything her family had done, not with Luise turning out so kind. “Do you know what kind of magic she has?” After all, there were times when Madeline herself had thought she’d surely go crazy from hearing the voices of everything she touched. It left a heavy, cold weight in the pit of her stomach to think something similar might have already happened to Avis. She’d read stories about mad witches, spent more than one anxiety-ridden night on the internet, huddled into her blankets as she clicked through pages on Google, sick to her stomach and unable to stop.

“I’m not sure,” Abigail admitted. “I think it’s something like Karla’s? You’d have to ask one of the teachers.”

“Maybe I’ll just ask Avis herself?” Madeline offered after a moment’s hesitation, though she wasn’t sure at all that was what she wanted to do. It just seemed politer than asking about her behind her back, like she was a curiosity. (Well, she was, but it was still rude to treat her like one.)

Abigail gave her a look like she thought Madeline might have somehow hit her head in the last few seconds. “ _Ask_ Avis? Did you hear _anything_ I was just saying?”

Madeline shrugged half-heartedly, still watching out the window. “We’ll see.”


End file.
